Yineputjeheni

Fire.  

I like fire.

I am the revolting decay of it all.  I see things as they decompose- as they nourish new life to flourish.  The rotting flesh feeds the newborn babe- the youth suck upon the teat of decomposition.  

Dua Yinepu- Dua Neb-Het- Father and Mother of darkness.  Gods of Death I sing constant praises to you both.  The destruction you bring is needed for the new growth to come.  Yours is the purple and silver sting  of reality- of mortality.  You linger here on the edges, harboring the bittersweet knowledge of that which was and that which will be.  The lamentations of all that cannot let go of love- the wails of a thousand lovers.

Even those are cut short here in our space.  They begin and abruptly end, like cartoons suddenly muted.  We have heard all these things a million time before.  The sorrow is not lost upon us- that is what we thrive upon- the blood of passion and love.

Silently we circle.  

Our patience is endless.

Your flesh will be our feast.

From the time we break free from our mothers wombs we begin to decay.  We begin the long and lengthy journey to becoming corpses.

Everything we absorb and retain as meaningful is but the fodder of worms and maggots.  All that you accomplish in this life is just fodder for the next.  When your soul leaves your body all that is left is the impressions you have imposed upon the world around you.  Even these things decay eventually- all food for the worms and vultures.

I can not think of a more noble creature than the vulture.

They feast upon the lost desires, the failed hopes and forgotten dreams of the fallen.  They consume all our wanton and fanciful dreams- They eat our nightmares and ugly truths.  

Here now you may see them if you are lucky.  Circling effortlessly and silently above you as the last veins of life leave you.  Black upon blue, to remind us that we are but walking corpses.

What is more frightening: to reach out to your ancestors only to realize that they do not exist- that there is no life beyond death; or to reach out to your ancestors only to find that they completely and utterly disapprove of you and your life lead thus far?

My ancestors are a foreign lot to me, meaning I know little to nothing about them. One might think that my obsession with Death would make me an expert in the realms of ancestors, but that is quite opposite the reality.  Despite my preoccupation with death I know nearly squat about those that died so that I may live.  Much like Rev. Tamara mentioned in her blog- http://www.squidoo.com/what-you-should-know-about-ancestors - our modern Western “culture” has little or nothing to show in regards to honoring our ancestors.  We have a few holidays commemorating the lives and actions of a select few iconic individuals, one day set aside for visiting graves and tombs, and Halloween which has lost 99.9% of its true meaning.

So perhaps my disconnect from my ancestors is the result of my cultural upbringing.  Never in my family history did we make offerings or attempt to communicate with the dead, no wonder it is a foreign concept to me.  The world in which I was raised tries very hard to avoid the subject of death, even tho we are instinctively fascinated by it.

Zombies, anyone?   

Honoring ones ancestors is a matter of accepting ones own mortality- being consciously aware of the footprint you leave on this earth, and knowing that your footprint is just a passing thing- only as strong as the force you implant it with.