Sunday, March 8, 2015

in the name of

This morning I ran eight miles, and in the first time in ages ran out of my neighborhood, under the bridge where homeless people sometimes sleep, down to a riverside park with hills and quiet. And dogs. I didn't stop to chat with any of them, but it made me happy to see dogs enjoying a pretty park on a pretty day.

I had another bizarre hippy dippy dream last night: I was trying to coordinate a number of "good works" to be performed in the name of/in memory of my great friend who killed himself almost nine years ago. In the dream, it was the present, so this involved commemorating something that happened a long time ago, and it felt odd to be dredging that up. The "good works" consisted of things my friend himself had done or started, along with other things we thought might be nice to do. I had to find people I hadn't been in touch with for years, and in an odd twist, some of these were several-times-removed, like my friend's (the suicide) old college friend's brother, whom I had never met but was now contacting to do nice things for other people we both had never met. And all of this was taking place via telephone calls (which I hate), in a house or dorm or something where I lived with a lot of people from past and present corners of my life, and in addition to the good works thing we were having to coordinate stuff like getting the laundry started.

Why "good works"? I am not that good of a person. Why in someone's name or memory; why not just because? Why were all those people there? A head-examiner might say it was a wish to gather good memories (of good people) and keep them all in one place, or re-live them. But so what?

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