a tale for the time being pt 3
Circularity
While reading the final part of A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki, a particular quote struck me hard enough to ink a star in the corner of the page so deep it bled through onto the previous. Nao remarks on a quote from the french philosopher Montaigne, who wrote “that death itself is nothing. It is only the fear of death that makes death seem important. Am I afraid? Certainly, and yet… ‘Que sais-je?’ Montaigne asked. The answer is nothing. In reality, I know nothing” (326). I comfort any anxiety I feel over death with the logic that humans have always feared the unknown. Death is another, inevitable experience –– the most natural nature can be. However, it is what Nao says next that touched my heart. She writes, “And yet, at night, I lie on my bed, counting my beads, one for every thing on earth I love, on and on, in a circle without end” (326). Although I can comfort myself with logic, I still know nothing. I still experience the terror of knowing I will die. I still count my juzu beads, hoping I never run out of things to love so I can keep counting –– keep living –– forever.
The book has been shadowed by themes of death, especially by suicide, but also by circularity. Ozeki combines the future, past, and present, melding them into one another until they are indistinguishable. For example, Jiko writes a single character to her grandson and great grand-daughter as she passes away. She writes, “To live” and follows it with a plea, “‘For now,’ she said, ‘For the time being” (362). In her last moments, she tells them to live. In death, she pleads for life. Furthermore, after Jiko passes, she is cremated. On the ride back up the mountain, Nao says, “Now Jiko was so small she could sit on my lap, which is where I held her all the way back up the mountain” (366). Nao means Jiko’s urn is small, but her diction invokes the sight of a baby Jiko sitting in Nao’s lap. She refers to Jiko as if she were a child and rests Jiko on her lap like one, too. As ancient as she is, Jiko, in death, has become childlike. The same sentiment is expressed by Ruth, whose mother was described by the director as “so tiny…only seventy-four pounds” (371). Ozeki emphasizes how, as a human ages, they regress back into a childlike state. Not necessarily helpless or naive (although it is fair to question whether children are either of those things), but definitely vulnerable. Like a circle, from young to old to young again (in a way).
No matter what, I will run out of things to love. I will die. I am not sure if I can come to terms with that, and I will continue to hope for an eternity with the body and mind I have been given. However, there is a sort of infinity in death that I hope I can come to terms with… coming from dust and returning to dust.
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