This morning I am thinking about headstones. The past two days’ full moon was spectacular upon the mountain where I am now. Late at night I sat outside with my dog next to me looking at the moon and the stony mountain. At some point, while listening to the coyotes howling at the moon, its silvery light did cast a shadow below the countless rocks and boulders in the open field facing me.
Perhaps it was the late night, but I thought of the mountain as a vast cemetery full of randomly dispersed headstones.
The sun is out now although I can still see the moon. Faded, still round, it shines no light upon my morning. It is its own headstone, for a few hours. And then, it will be back, reborn and dominant.
Between two sips of strong coffee, I realized that I did not know the origin of headstones. Like so many things, I have taken it for granted that humans always put a headstone upon the tomb of the dead. I have also used the symbolism of the headstone to define the end of an experience, of a feeling, or of an attempt. Like “turning the page”.
But is that the case? Can one also put a headstone upon the living? Upon an ongoing feeling? And, does “turning the page” always result in a better chapter of life?
… It seems that the origin of the headstone dates back to Judea, where it was customary to bury the dead and ask every mourner to place a stone upon the head of the grave. Over centuries that tradition became more socially institutionalized and the headstone turned into a marker of the tomb with information about the deceased. In other words, it became an immortalizer. A marker for the future more than of the past.
Interestingly, that tradition from Judea may not be peculiar to humans. It is said that when an elephant dies, members of the herd mourn and each brings a branch, even a small tree and place them upon the lifeless body. And today, many throw a flower upon the casket or the tomb.
A universal gesture perhaps.
But to remember one often goes to grandiose efforts. After all if we want to remember it is because there was love, admiration, and that there were good times. Hence the ornate edifices upon certain tombs, called Stelae. These are more than headstones; they are veritable funerary art forms.
Do we symbolically place a stele over memories as well to remember and let other generations learn about the good times we had?
… A couple of decades ago I took pictures of stelae in the only Armenian cemetery in Singapore. In the middle of the city, the cemetery is next to a small chapel kept as a historical heritage. I do not think there are Armenians left in Singapore, but the graves of the passed generation are still there reminding us of times past and heritages respected. More, the stelae are carved in limestone, and the tropical weather of Singapore has joined the passage of time itself to erode and irreversibly blunt the sharp edges of passion, love and remembrance.
One stele attracted me because of the intense emotions the statue showed. Rain, wind, sun and time had further smoothened the stone and darkened its color. I stayed next to that headstone for a long while. The expression of the statue was so tender, so sad, so accepting.
And then, as it is the case with the observation of what seems ordinary, I discovered an extraordinary detail: there was a toothbrush left near the hands of the statue! Now the expression of the statue seemed even more mysterious: why would anyone leave a toothbrush on that headstone?
… Many years have passed since I took that picture, but the symbolism of that toothbrush has stayed with me. Can one clean and efface the marks of time upon a headstone? Of the name of a person? Of memorable times under moonlight? Could a toothbrush symbolize our inability to keep up with the pace of the passage and our helplessness in reversing its ravages?
I have chosen, placed and visited a number of headstones for the dear ones I lost. And, life has taken me around, from place to place, from people to new people and I have left these headstones lonesome. They somehow mark a time of my own passage rather than a place where a loved one was given back to the earth.
I have come to accept that a headstone is for the living not for the dead.
I have come to accept that a headstone is for the living not for the dead.
… This morning I am thinking about headstones. Not the ones I saw under the full moon atop a high mountain. But the headstones we put upon memories and feelings.
And I am sure that when it is full moon again, I will sit outside with my dog next to me and look at the rocks and boulders casting a silvery shadow in moonlight. And I will then think what I think today: that one never really “turns a page” or buries the memory of good times.
Instead, we celebrate, each in our own way, the kindness of that passage.
March 7, 2015
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015
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