It was a crisp, sunny morning for
a run along Toronto’s Kay Gardner Beltline Trail. Having spent the previous day traveling, I was anxious to get
moving. I turned on my tunes, hit the timer on my watch, and quickly fell into
a comfortable rhythm.
I was relishing the beauty of the
changing season. The rays of the autumn sun, low in the sky, filtered through
the trees, and glinted off the rustling leaves that slowly drifted towards the
ground. Black squirrels foraged at the edges of the path. A cardinal caught my
eye.
Before long, the high wall that
marks the boundary between that section of the belt line and Mount Pleasant
Cemetery came into view. In order
to continue along the tree-lined trail, I needed to run through the cemetery.
This was not the first time that
I had run through the cemetery. As
on previous occasions, it felt a bit odd to be jogging alongside headstones.
There was something vaguely unsettling and disrespectful about it, as if life
were thumbing its nose at death. Yet, at the same time, it felt quite
natural.
On this particular day, as leaves
were decaying underfoot, I was acutely conscious of the proximity between life
and death. In the buildings and
along the by-ways outside the cemetery wall and along the trail itself, we
humans, like ants intent on a task, were consumed with the business of
living. Unless we were in the act
of burying our dead, the cemetery was just a pleasant park; its graves had
nothing to do with us.
I began to speculate about the
lives of those who were buried beneath the ground. Perhaps these graves that stretched out in every direction
beneath my pounding footsteps had something to tell me.
Initially, I was intrigued with the individuals whose tombs bespoke wealth or importance. But then, the light went on. Death levels the playing field. Distinctions of wealth, race and status crumble. Rich or poor, famous or infamous, we all come to the same end. All that we amass gets left behind. Death reduces; we are “dust to dust, ashes to ashes”.
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| Mount Pleasant Cemetery, Toronto Eaton Tomb |
Maybe because it was a beautiful
day and I was feeling healthy and vigorous, the commentary in my head was
curiously uplifting despite its morbid subject. I actually felt more alive.
Coincidental with my visit to
Toronto, the Royal Ontario Museum had an exhibit on Pompeii. I spent several
hours wandering amidst artifacts that told the story of a community abruptly
destroyed, lives suddenly snuffed out; artifacts that left me pondering once
again the fleeting nature of human life.
A carbonized half loaf of bread and bowl of figs were stark reminders that life can change in an instant. An exquisite gold and emerald necklace delicately wrought and in perfect condition was one of the artifacts that exemplified human creativity and our appreciation for beauty. Like many of the other items on display, it also represented for me the human quest for wealth and status, and the age-old practice of ordering human society based on the two.
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| Gold and emerald necklace from Pompeii |
I think that periodically reflecting upon our mortality has some benefits. It creates a sense of urgency about living well, which for me means to live more simply, and with more mindfulness, compassion, gratitude and love. It can help us define the things that make life meaningful and prioritize the tasks that out of necessity occupy our time.
When I set out for my run, I had
no intention of thinking about death. My purpose was much more mundane. Yet, as I ran through the cemetery, its
graves, like the well-preserved and stately artifacts of Pompeii, reminded me
that “there is a season for everything, a time for every purpose under heaven”,
and that the fullness of life includes all of human experience.
