Recently I was
invited to a funeral wake. I went to see what had died. I pulled up the courage
to walk towards the coffin where they kept what was dead for subsequent
cremation.
Standing above the
head post of the coffin, I took a peep inside. And there lying in padded velvet
comfort was what was dead. It was dead alright. It did not move at all the
whole time I stared at it. It laid still, motionless.
I was tempted to
touch it, to feel it, and to test how far into the process of rigor mortis the
dead thing had been. But I resisted that urge knowing better that what is dead
is dead. I should let dead dog lie. I shouldn't stir the hornet's nest.
I came to the wake
to bid farewell to the death of my friend's conscience. I came to say goodbye
to his moral standing as it remained there, lying in that box all dolled up for
the incinerator.
As I stared at it,
at the well embalmed corpus of dead conscience, the irony was not lost on me.
What a waste of formaldehyde, I muttered under my breath.
For what is there to preserve or disinfect? What is there to
show to the world when death had taken over? What good is a beautified exterior
all flowing in embalming fluid when what truly matters inside is rotting and
decomposing? Alas, how effective are you formaldehyde to hide the true
intention of man by covering the empty ethical shell with a transient sheen of
deception?
Of course, I didn't
expect a large crowd to attend the wake. In fact, it was a by-invitation-only
crowd. I could count with both hands the number of witnesses who came.
We all took turns to pay our last respect to the corpse in the coffin and solemnly walked
to our seat. The service ended with this eulogy prepared by the one who once
shared an inseparable bond with the dead conscience. He is none other than my
friend. There was no better person to offer the last words and rites.
Standing before us,
the exclusive crowd, and looking forlorn, my friend read out his eulogy in
tribute to the demise of his conscience.
"Dear friends, thanks for coming. I know this
is most unfortunate. I know it is hard to witness this. But honestly, this day
cannot be avoidable. It will come anyway, sooner or later.
My conscience died the way he had to die. It was a slow and
unexpected death though. I hope it was a painless one because I didn't feel a
thing when he left me.
While I am not proud to say this, he always get in the way of
what I wanted. That sense of right and wrong always slowed me down. He clipped
my wings and limited the heights of my personal happiness in this world.
I sometimes get this feeling that my conscience does not
understand me. Neither I him. I detested his timing. He always came in to tell
me off at the wrong time. With him, my freedom was curbed. I was unable to
soar, to really enjoy life, to free myself from the chains of tradition and its
many man-made values.
You see, I needed to live my life too; at least in the way I saw
fit. So I knew one day we will go our separate ways. But his death was not
really the departure I had in mind. It was quite unexpected.
Anyhow, I will miss him. We have been together for as long as I
could remember. We had our good times. We shared much thoughts and many
experiences together. We were even inseparable once. But I guess we grew up. Or
at least I grew up and he didn't want to. He still had those old fashioned ways
or outdated ideas about how I should live my life.
He's a stubborn one like a bull in crimson rage sometimes. He
refused to change or flow with the world or reality. I guess his premature
death was the price he paid for his inflexibility.
So, good bye
my conscience, my friend. You will be dearly missed. The memories we had
together will stay with me forever. Take care buddy, and wherever you are, I
hope you find peace." Cheerz.
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