OK, Sort Of

"Just kill me."

"I am killing you."

— The Departed

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Dear Kate,

Truth be told, if truth is told about us, we will all face our proper end.

Last night I watched again "The Departed," the final 30 minutes, any minute of the movie a window to its grand narrative - what is it, I asked, what is the Story it tells?  And I came up with the first sentence you read there just now.

The question is when, when is the "end"?

We are buying time.  With each straggling strand we present to the world a better end we propose we deserve, distracting first ourselves from the great tragedy of our life weighing down already and ever more by the "end," never too far in sight, always close to heart.  The trick of the trade is to keep our heart away from the told, revealed and revealing truth - or to have no heart at all.  Kill the heart that is killing you.

I presume you've watched the movie, or please stop reading now.  Such is a choice you can make about a letter or a movie - but not your life.  We can't stop what is to become of us.

Truth be told, if truth is told about us, we will all face our proper end? we ask.  What is Truth?  Who is going to tell it?  What to tell about us that is buried in our embellished social media posts, our pious swaggering, our hiddenness between the lines, that would reveal further, wider, and deeper - lower truths about us?  Who says what is proper?  To what end is one to draw a line and announce our End?

We can all argue philosophically about all these questions, but the questions of When and How need no articulation because they don't exist per se.  Here and Now is the How and When of our End unveiling.

Do you remember Colin, the Matt Damon character's final word, when he meets the man with a gun waiting for him in his beautiful apartment, knowing well what the man comes for and what the man shall get?  He says, "OK."

He accepts his fate, "sort of, but only in a Colin way," the screenplay says.  He doesn't have a choice, knowing his End is proper.

We accept our fate, sort of, but only in our way, going down and knowing well Why, but still pleading, Why now? as if the question of When is there for us to ask and we are merely curious in our innocence.

Yours, Alex