The Dead

The Dead ★★★★★

A cemetery's sort of like Sheol's exterior design, standing in remembrance of a reign long past and in anticipation of the reign yet to be wholly experienced. That cold stasis of death bears down upon the living by way of superimposition. Even rippling water which might elsewhere express totality here calls up the opposite: that very same Pit which lasts as consequence. So all Brakhage's movement is transfigured in granite resignation. All things move toward their end in the sense that a flower's end is in its withering and its withering reveals the miracle of its flourishing.

But there's no flourishing of any flower without the fullness which precedes, produces, and resolves the flourish – and that sure isn't the withering, which is more of a limitation than a fulfillment. All things move toward their end then in the sense that manifestations of being have as both their source and goal that indescribability we'll describe as absolute being. So all Brakhage's stillness is transfigured in uncreated light. Death superimposes life in a darkened tension, yes, but Life superimposes death in a radiant unity. It's inevitable.

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