Weekly Plunder: Week 27 - “Darkness at the Heart of My Love”

After successfully completing a 5-mile run at a St. Patrick’s Day event yesterday, I find myself quietly content. It was the fastest run of my life. That, for a 36-year-old coming off of a severe foot injury, is unexpected. There were a few months last year following the car hit where I wondered if I’d ever run again. I paid a physical therapist for multiple sessions per week through December and January out of desperation; my foot is finally functional again.

I am preparing for a 30-ish mile bike ride this morning. Though the competition yesterday was fun (to be honest, I find competition to be utterly intoxicating), I no longer find myself at an age where I yearn to “chase an athletic pinnacle.” I’m not training; I’m preparing for a quiet few hours along the river. I’ll see the same flock of geese that I encounter multiple times per week. They recognize me now, I think, because as I pass, they regard me with a near-rude nonchalance. They used to fly away. Now they keep loitering about in place.

If there is enough time when I return, I’ll skateboard a little, and do so badly. Something about having hobbies that you suck at is invigorating.

I am “in the game” now not to “beat people,” but for a splash of sunshine and to reenact a recurring dream, that as I ride over the Chain of Rocks bridge that takes me across the Mississippi River, I’ll keep riding into a spirit world, never to be seen or heard from again. I aim to be lost in time, to let this day feel like an eternity, to exist only in the now.

I have a strong relationship with the bicycle because my body is its gas, my legs are its pistons, and my hands are practically laced together with its brakes. It is a unique symbiosis of human and machine. There is also a darkness at the heart of my love; each pedal forward is, I must admit, a fight against my own mortality. At the heart of all love one can find a dose of darkness.

What I’m watching: Servant, season 3. I was intrigued by the first two seasons of this M. Night Shyamalan series, but I find season 3 to be repetitive. It has its moments but I can’t say I’m enraptured.

What I’m reading: The Midlife Cyclist by Phil Caves. This is more about embracing one’s “second life” than it is about cycling (but it does have some useful cycling tips).

What I’m listening to: “The Darkness at the Heart of My Love” by Ghost. Impera, the new Ghost album, dropped on Friday. I’m obviously a fan and I’ve had it on repeat since Friday. It seems to be an album about the eventual fall of empires. This is my favorite track on it. It’s not the lead single, and it’s not necessarily a ballad either. It’s just different, and yet it speaks to me. It’s also the inspiration for the title of this blog.

What I’m doing: I’m packing for a week-long trip to Northern California. Bringing my best camera for this one!

An Evening with Ghost and Volbeat

February 21, Saint Louis—Presidents Day

I walked approximately two miles from my apartment just after dusk to get to the rock show. I trekked alongside the construction site of the upcoming downtown soccer stadium, then walked through a vacant St. Louis University. I turned left on Compton Ave and suddenly I was at the arena and eager for some rock and roll music.

Rock bands Ghost and Volbeat played at Chaifetz arena in downtown St. Louis.

Volbeat is a Danish band that draws influence from a variety of genres—rock, metal, rockabilly, and the blues—and has a strong knack for hooks and catchy choruses.

I was glad to hear them play some of my personal favorites, including new songs “Temple of Ekur” and “The Devil Rages On.”

The show also brought additional depth to hit song “Die to Live.” As lead singer Michael Poulsen stated, “Sometimes ya gotta die a little to live a little” as the band launched full speed into the track.

Frontman Michael Poulsen has an absolutely booming rockabilly-inspired voice that hits each note with pitch-perfect precision. I’ve also been a long-time fan of lead guitarist Rob Caggiano, who has served as producer for several Volbeat albums and was known before joining the band as a once-lead guitarist of legendary thrash band Anthrax. He’s a true virtuoso and the type that makes the most blistering solos look effortless.

There was a fun guest appearance by ZZ Bottom, who brought some zest with saxophone and piano to a few tunes.

I could have listened to Volbeat all night, but headliner Ghost is one of my favorite bands (latest album Prequelle is one of my most-played of the last two years).

Swedish rock band Ghost is arguably a solo project helmed by frontman Tobias Forge, who records much of the instruments for the studio albums and is the primary songwriter. For live shows he is assisted by the “Nameless Ghouls” on instrumentals, who for this show wore sinister looking gas masks and black uniforms.

The elaborate stage setup featured a giant fake stained glass painting of “Papa Emeritus IV,” the character that Forge portrays on stage. Emeritus is a diabolical satanic pope all too eager to spread the will of his dark lord (he repeatedly asks the audience to fornicate after the show).

In spite of the sinister theatrics (this includes flames geystering up, as well as the nameless ghouls routinely bickering with one another and competing with Emeritus for stage attention), the beauty of Ghost is that it is a legitimate rock band, more in line with Blue Oyster Cult than screamo death metal. The songs are melodic and Forge sings rather than screams. The hooks sink into the mind and linger there long after hearing them.

A shower of glitter rained down during “Mummy Dust.” Forge went through a diverse and fun wardrobe selection (everything from a pope costume to a glittery jacket). The band launched a moving cover of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” (the ghouls can really play), and the crowd headbanged to the crunching metal song “Faith.”

What an excellent way to spend Presidents Day!

Who Walks Behind - Memoro Menti

Memoro menti is Latin for “you have to die” according to Wikipedia.

Thousands of years ago, Roman generals appointed slaves the task of constantly whispering to them something along the lines of, “you too will die,” as they rode via horseback. This is arguably the origin of the phrase “memoro menti”.

This is also, I suspect, the subject matter of the Ghost song “Pro Memoria.” The chorus of this song is, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.” The song is therefore the slave’s constant whisper to the general: “you are mortal, and your time will end.”

I find myself more acutely aware of an inevitable end these days (hopefully not soon, but inevitable nonetheless). The following have helped present this truth to me: a current injury, a surgically removed tumor from my 20s, and the realization that time accelerates with age.

I do not delude myself into thinking that this present life is a gateway to some sort of eternity. Such a notion strikes me as vain (what other biological creature is bestowed such an honor, and worse, a self-appointed one?), and also potentially lazy. An assumption of eternity is often an excuse to do nothing with the present moment, under the false assumption that there will always be a tomorrow. One could argue that religion convinces its followers to limit themselves, to go “sinless,” with promises of eternity as well.

Such an epiphany, the realization of finiteness, renders the concept of “sacrifice” a difficult one to grasp. The justification of sacrifice, after all, is for the sake of a better tomorrow. But tomorrow is not a guarantee and therefore sacrifice is a gamble.

Conversely, to neglect tomorrow, to indulge in full-blown hedonism in this present moment, runs a very real risk of creating a hellish future. So, one has no choice but to assume that a tomorrow will exist, that some preparation for it is warranted, and that some sacrifice today could potentially render tomorrow “better.”

Past and present. Sacrifice and indulgence. It is a balancing act. To accept the “hell” of today for the sake “heaven” tomorrow, to sacrifice, runs the very real risk of dying having only experienced hell. I think of a father I knew who died of cancer in his 40s having only known a life of “saving aggressively for an early retirement.” His son, determined not to repeat the same mistake, indulged in a life of extreme hedonism and wound up in deep poverty by the same age.

Tomorrow is not a guarantee and neither is good health. There is a yin/yang sort of walk on a tightrope in regards to handling the present and future. And there are no answers to how far one should stray towards either side.

So we work, but we are wary of working “too much” (to die in a cubicle is to never have lived!). And we conserve, but we are wary of conserving “too much” (to live for “saving” is to forsake life completely!). And we are tasked with meditating and soul search for what exactly “too much” is in our lives. In doing so, do we “die in a happy medium?”

I prepare for running and retirement and cycling and skateboarding and travel and hiking up mountains and swimming in seas and reading new books!

And while I plan I also must whisper to myself, “Don’t you forget about dying, don’t you forget about your friend death, don’t you forget that you will die.”