“Nietzsche Is Dead.” - God

No one knows what the Other Side looks like. No one. It’s not a question of capacity; there, everyone is blind. The abyss stares outwards because that is the only direction where there is something to see. But the few, the brave, march into the unknown diligently, seeing nothing.

Dearly Beloved,

We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and mourn the loss of our dear friend, Esau.

There’s a lot of things a person can say about Esau. And yet, now that I find myself up here, they all sound kind of silly. He was a man who would have been thrilled to have a funeral – to have such a huge turnout at something so ultimately insignificant to him.

Heh. You know, I can actually hear his voice in my head saying “I’m dead, it’s not like I would notice if no one showed up.” He was happy to imagine that people wanted to celebrate his life, but he never, not once, sounded interested in satisfying some bar or marker. There was no kind of turnout number or achievement in his mind that he was required to meet – not in life, and certainly not in his death. All in all, he was content.

But I never believed him. I still don’t. See, because the whole time I knew him, I saw in his eyes that he was looking for something. Something that he didn’t have, that he didn’t see, but that he knew. That’s because of what I saw in his eyes.

I’d known him since he was born and from the first moment that he learned about the world around him, the man was hoping. Some of his closer friends called it longing. Maybe they were right. But it seemed more positive than that, to me. To me, he wasn’t hoping longingly, he was hoping faithfully. Necessarily.

I think Esau saw what most of us never catch a glimpse of: Real Happiness. He didn’t have it – no, we would have all known it if he had had it – but he saw it. He saw how it was to be birthed.

I have a story that I want to share with you. It was just one of those little memories that we all have. But as I reflect on who this man was, and how he lived his life, I keep thinking about this time I had with him.

One day, when he was little, Esau called me over to see his dominos. He had had them all rigged up so that when you tipped over the first one, they would all fall in succession. He must have had more than 500 hundred dominos set up. I don’t know how long it had taken him, but I could see the pride beaming from his little form. And then, he asked me to push the first one.

I don’t know why he didn’t want to do it himself, I know he could have. He said he wanted me to do it, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to spoil all of his hard work. It must have taken him hours to put them all in the right place. I didn’t want to be the one to walk in and take that pleasure from him. He should do the honours.

But upon reflection, I know that he needed me to do it. Somehow, he knew he couldn’t. If he did, it would ruin everything. It would reduce hours of work into a disappointing, brief, fanfare. If I did, it would mean something.

I think Esau wanted to give us the key to the whole world. Not because it was something he didn’t want, or because he was afraid of it, or because he was selfless. I think because it was something he could only have when someone else took it.

Maybe I’m babbling. I probably am. Esau always let me blab, that’s for sure.

You know what he would see if he was standing here today? He would see millions of Almosts. He would hear every whimsical word, every under-your-breath dream, and he’d be certain that with one step, just one step, by any of you, the whole world would re-arrange itself into something beautiful. And no one can take that step for you. And he always hoped we would.

That’s what he knew. That’s what he trusted. I don’t know why, and I sure as hell don’t know what my step is, but I know that’s how he took every moment.

A wise man once wrote of a great threshold. This threshold was between life and death, between meaning and existence. The no-man’s land between Being and Nothingness. And everything about this threshold was neither here nor there. It was a dream. An intangible, dense, guardian and gateway.

To look upon it from the one side was to look upon a great endless pit and the tallest of insurmountable cliffs. Malevolence given form. All the while, the way and view of the Other Side is blocked; protected as a mystery, unfamiliar, uncertain.

But to look at it from that Other Side would be to see through a full and complete kaleidoscope. An array of coloured glasses and beautiful sounds. Like paintings. Art, inspired. From there you could see a million horizons and a million sunsets.

It was within this place that the Gods live.

I’m not a religious man, but the firm, unwavering content that Esau brought to us certainly challenged me to be a spiritual one. Perhaps that was the step that he had to take. Perhaps that was the step that he was taking all along.

Esau was pure, unrealized potential. Anyone who knew him knew his impotent but incredible charge. I like to imagine that he’s gone on to a better place. Somewhere where he has that happiness. I hope he can not only see it, but he can have it. He deserves it.

With his death, he will teach me to not only look forward but to act forward. To celebrate the past as the past. As something that is ungraspable and unmoldable and impotent against our futures.

...But when all our secrets are laid bare,
What is left for subtle Care?

Goodbye, my friend. You will be missed.

Close your eyes little bird:
Weary heads were never meant to fly.

Jacob, would you like to say a few words?