Woods of Ypres : Kiss My Ashes (Goodbye) https://youtu.be/_XSK5V5ROSw
Chapter Headers 1, 2, 3 by KalmOne from KalmOne Before Storm Vol. 2 http://www.Kalm1.com
Additional Unsolicited Blurb(s):
What Happens to Your Body After You Die?
The Tree Graves
Toraja, Sulawesi Indonesia
Buried toothless in wooden caskets in the hollow womb of a tree to be reabsorbed by nature, the rite of passage begins early in this remote tribe. Laid to rest in placenta after being washed, entured with chicken eggs, and finely swaddled in paltry cerements.
In the late evening, Just one pig is sacrificed using torches, as they collect money from fellow villagers in which to procure it. Making the solemn event a communal effort. A homemade wicker casket is constructed and covers the makeshift wound. Finally, fixed into place with wooden stakes, which gave the impression of an overturned table.
Barstow, California United States
It was an insignificant day, if only for the Santa Ana (or “devil winds”) as they began foisting debris (most dust is dead skin cells) onto all those who could take off work to attend the early afternoon festivities. Creosote bushes desiccated, uprooted began to make their daily migration to the next sand dune. The weekday Sun was unrelenting 104°F with no comfort to be found. On occasion you would get what I called a “tumble weave” seen cavorting end over end from the nearby mini-mall salon, in search of a wayward owner. A grieving daughter (embracing her teenage wasteland) was seemingly sponsored by Hot Topic and removed a laced glove as she demurely began to excavate. Stopping only to retrieve a broken nail and curse her luck. They stood on a five foot patch of imported grass replete with timed water sprinklers on every corner.
Scattered onlookers seemed to mourn the loss of a day’s pay and after a moment of silence was twice broken by the shrill of a text notification or another reminder to bring 1% milk home, all pretenses were abandoned. The park had open wifi.
A widow clutched through tears what appeared to be a box of Chinese take out but upon a closer inspection was a cardboard urn with a tracking label printed discreetly on the side. As of yet, nothing seemed to grow.
The biodegradable husband was lowered, all organs harvested and now devoid of even a carbon footprint or his favorite house slippers.
A tree might one day struggle to rise from these ashes to make a ten degree difference to those whom seek it’s shade (no longer it’s countenance) or the embrace of strange limbs.
An anonymous speaker had lost the hastily written eulogy…so a few begin to fill the emptiness with more of the same, emptiness, till what remained was no longer solace. Just another facsimile.
But now that the hole had been filled….it was just another infinite series of digression(s). Another abyss after abyss.
Even More (cont.) Listening:
Woods of Ypres: Finality
I worship a symbolic idea.
One where the adversarial spirit is given free reign.
One where the doubt, darkness and lack of innate worth are submissive to the very process of illumination.
I worship The Light Bringer, The Godless Savage, The Lord ov the Flies, The Accuser, Chronozon, Ha-Satan, because it is the most glorious representation of my true-self.
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