Hitching a Ride

As is no surprise, Christopher Hitchens died a few hours ago. I say no surprise, not because of the severe and aggressive cancer that he was diagnosed with. I say it was no surprise because we all will die. Still, reading about it while listening to one of his speeches didn't make it easier for me to take. In the news are the cold, black and white words. In my ears is his voice, somehow clearer and defiant, pushing back against death even after the battle is lost.

I loved Christopher Hitchens. He was a writer and orator of such might that his slightest efforts put to shame my greatest triumphs of wordplay. I am not secure enough in my manhood to admit that I wept at the news of his passing. He inspired me to actually follow through on the things I believed. He forced me to rethink my stern opposition to the Iraq war. He made me cringe when he would lay down a Hitchslap. I always felt sorry for his opponents.

I know there are a lot of people who are as sad as I am for his passing. I know there are many who will delight in the death of one of atheism's finest warriors. As much as I would like to either wallow in sorrow or rage against the hypocrites, I cannot. There is a Hitchens-shaped hole in the dialogue now. There is an empty chair at the debate. There is a voice missing from the discussion about what is good, what is beautiful, what is noble, what is pure and what is true. My own meager efforts may have to be multiplied a million times before that hole is filled. I will do my best and hope that a million more will as well.

Tonight we will drink for him. Tomorrow we will remember him. I hope that the day after that, we will all carry on the cause that he so cherished.

Suicide and Smiles

     First of all, nobody should take this post as a cry for help or a plea for attention. People get all icky about the subject of suicide and I don't want my dear readers to take this in anything other than the spirit it proclaims.

     When I was younger, I was very depressed. I considered suicide, for very very tiny amounts of time and not terribly seriously. A couple weeks ago I far more strongly thought about suicide because I was completely elated. I know. It didn't make any sense to me then and it doesn't really now. Hence, the rest of this piece might not make sense. I'll apologize in advance.

     It could be argued that I spend too much time thinking about things these days. It could be argued, and I'm not sure what side I would be on. In any case, weeks ago I was awestruck by the continuity of the universe. I am a shockingly small part of the universe, but I am quite literally made of the very same basic material as everything else. The time I spend here as a cohesive entity is a fraction of a fraction of all the time in the continuum. The component parts of me will persist for thousands, millions or even billions of years.

     I know. This is dangerously close to all that hippy "we are one with the universe" crap. And yet, it's so close to being true. We, and everything around us, are made of atoms that were born in the massive celestial forges of long-dead stars. Everything we know, love and hate are more similar than we could ever understand before the revelations of modern physics. From the Big Bang, to now, to the eventual thermal death of all activity in the universe in trillions of years, it was as though I could trace my very presence through time. (I told you this wouldn't make any sense)

     As a result, I felt as though a veil had been lifted. The particles that make me up at this moment were widely scattered before coming together for a few decades to be...me. Once I stop functioning as a human being, what makes me up will go on to make up other things, mainly worm crap at first....but still. While I have rarely been afraid to die (since I'm pretty sure I won't experience what it is like to be dead) after this thought I was positively eager to die. Once I do, the next natural step will be fulfilled and miniscule parts of me will continue on.

     So I smiled, comfortable at the thought of my own death. But the thought of suicide passed pretty quickly. As it turns out, I have all the time in the universe.