The Funeral of Jack – The Secret Life of Sean Penn

(Beware – the following has movie spoilers )

2013.

Two things happened to me today. I went to the funeral of a man named Jack. And I went to see ‘The Secret Life of Walter Mitty’ for the second time. Jack used to be our next door neighbour. In another house. At another time. He used to appear at the falling down fence that separated our huge back yard and Hill’s Hoist from his. Not all of him appeared. Mostly his shock of white hair. It was too white to be grey. And too wild. Shocking wild-white hair, sprouting from a cheery face. A cheery face and a kind hand that was always handing something over the fence. Mostly lemons. Jack had a monstrous lemon tree. He was polite about my small sparse one. Polite and supportive. Sometimes he had strawberries and silver-beet – or spinach. In a plastic bag. He’d dangle the plastic bag over the fence.

They told a story at his funeral about how Jack sailed on a ship in world war two and was having a cup of tea in between shifts. Being a tidy man Jack usually washed up his mug after his tea, but on that particular day he didn’t, he left his tea mug dirty and he never into the ship’s galley which was blown to pieces moments after he’d finished his tea. So instead of dying when he was little more than a boy, he lived until he was ninety-five – outlived a daughter and a wife, grew shocking wild-white hair and handed us lemons over the fence then died last week just because that’s the way it goes.

There was a poem in the thank-you card they gave us on the way in. It’s by Adam Lindsay Gordon and reads; “Life is mostly froth and bubble, two things stand like stone. kindness in another’s trouble, courage in your own”. Hard to argue with that. Remembering Jack reminded me how little we matter in the great passing of deep time yet how much we matter to those with whom we spend our nanosecond blink in the universe. And how dignity and integrity, while oft considered life’s consolation prizes when compared to the more desirable treasures of fame and fortune – are always the precious gems that people hold forth to remember us by when the chips are down and we’re staring into the great abyss.

Death has a real talent for stripping away everything – from everyone – especially the living. Only those things that really matter are left behind in the emptiness of finality. I’ve yet to go to a funeral where sentimentality got the best of truth. Even when there’s falsehood and hypocrisy, when those who lived life selfishly are spoke of in the best possible light; at the end of the day there’s still the vision of that coffin being placed in the ground to bring us all back to earth. Jack was remembered with humility and warmth. He deserved to be. He left behind a space that will never be filled other than with the memories that will endure as long as those who knew him are alive to remember. There’s even dignity in that.

“Beautiful things don’t need to draw attention to themselves”.

If you ever want to see the God that Jack is surely going to – all you have to do is look into the eyes of Sean Penn when he’s staring into the camera – and let yourself experience whatever he’s experiencing. In ‘The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty’, he’s looking at a Ghost of sorts in the Himalayas. But it’s where he goes when he drops into himself. Into the bliss of human experience where we transcend our own bodies, just for a few seconds and live – I mean really live in that instant. Like the fleeting moment before break of day becomes morning or the sunset illuminates grass before the hue of dark blue creeps over. Sean Penn kills me in this movie. In one moment, one human experience he leaves me feeling cheated that I can’t feel like that, like he does – staring into the camera – letting go of the rope – falling into the very depths of love and yearning and unbearable, beautiful, sadness and epiphany.

Then I remember I can. I just have to let go too. Of everything. When I first saw ‘Walter Mitty’ I thought it was about dreams. About fulfilling your dreams. But I’m pretty sure I was wrong. It’s about responsibility. Walter doesn’t need to learn how to be brave in order to take a risk and fly to Greenland – he just needs convincing it’s his responsibility to fly to Greenland and he gladly takes the risk. He wants to go to Greenland, to Iceland, he’s been waiting his whole life for the moment. It’s only when he’s sitting in Pa Pa Joe’s with his financial notebook and cup of soda – that he is again reigned in by what he thinks are his ‘real responsibilities’. Walter Mitty doesn’t remind me I have to shrug my own. He reminds me that I’m cheating myself and everyone I love if let my responsibilities make me less alive. Let’s face it – if you live without adventure in your heart – then you might as well go and wash up your mug of tea – because whether you live another day or until the age of ninety-five – you’re not going to stand a chance of experiencing what Sean Penn does – and screw that. I know it’s possible. I just have to be brave enough to actually ‘be’ alive – and not become a life support system for my own fear, say “what the f#@k” at least once a week and not give so much of a shit.

I have no further thoughts to add at this time – other than to say the sound-track for Walter Mitty is very cool – and at Jack’s funeral they played “You are you my Sunshine”. Which killed me even more than Sean Penn did.

The end.