What Not To Wear….At My Funeral

blooooo

No Shoes No Shirt No Problem., But Keep Your Suit For The War
Full Disclosure. I’m a tree hugging, peace love-a-dovin’, free lovin’ hippie freak. I was there at peace rally’s, sit ins, and assorted forms of demonstrations involving what they call “civil disobedience” We may have been a bit too disobedient but the authorities were far from civil. But that’s buried in the past and it’s a brave new world today. I am still a hopeful idealist and believe we have a chance, but I also believe its our species that is destroying the planet and totally fucking up nature an disrupting the survival strategies of other species. That said, old age is angrily and mercilessly creeping up and forcing me into considering issues younger people believe to be too far in the future.
Two things can happen as you reach those misnamed golden years. Nothing gold about them, its more like the weak porous bone years, but I remember when my father turned 80 he went the direction I see many go in. Pops found the religion that had mysteriously avoided him in the old days. He didn’t go to church too often, in fact if I saw him there 10 times as a kid that’s a lot. Of course he had no problem making sure his kids attended mass and sang and prayed but he spent that time in the firehouse across the street from the church. But at 80 he found religion and I’m guessing it was a way of hedging his bets. If they’re wrong and there is no heaven, no harm no foul. But on the other hand, if they’re right he wanted to make damn sure he prayed himself a ticket to the up escalator. He crammed and studied and before long was quoting scriptures previously foreign to him. But I’m not going that way. If I’m right I didn’t waste any time praying, and worshiping something that never even existed, along with Santa, the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and my imaginary friend who caused all the mischief and mayhem I was blamed for. And if I’m wrong, and I head down to the caves of hell at least I’ll have some good company, like drug dealers, hookers, and other ambiguous sinners. I’ll just have to make do with what’s there.
The other thing us old farts begin to think about is the event before traveling out as billions of particles into the cosmos, or up or down that religious elevator to determine our eternal fate. Death. Not a happy subject, and we don’t really like talking about it, at least about ours, but it is a reality that inches a little closer everyday. Once my ride of life ends its over and I’ll get off and let others take their turn, but I do want to make sure I am honored in death in the appropriate way.
Of course I want a party with lots of booze and singing an dancing, but I do have one very serious request. Like I aid, I have lived most of my life as a peace loving hippie and as such I wouldn’t want anyone at my funeral wearing a uniform of brutality. I’m not talking about assault weapon carrying military fatigue wearing soldiers, I mean the silent soldiers of war, the soldiers of fortune. They come in an assortment of uniforms, but most are something like collared shirts and ties, a jacket with matching slacks, and polished shoes. They try to appear different but they all dance to the beat of the same doldrums in bored rooms. (not a typo, those board meeting could make an insomniac snore in a matter of minutes) The weapons they carry into battle are briefcases filled with documents and battle plans. They use money as their motive and they wave flags of corporate logo’s. They sneak silently into our lives and disrupt them under our noses and we may not even know they’re there until they foreclose on our home, or audit our taxes, or just remove our ability to feed, clothe, and raise our families by annihilating our savings. And they do it with a smile, often even a smirk. They may not all be out to destroy our financial institutions but suits have become a symbol of corporate greed in the war against humanity and I don’t want anyone like that at my funeral. So if you’re coming to my funeral keep in mind it’s a celebration of my life and put on a tee shirt, a pair of jeans, shorts if its hot enough, let your hair sown, sing and dance and drink and indulge in whatever makes you happy, but leave your suits at home, there are no battles to be waged at a celebration of life…. PEACE

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