Either way I should have something to write… but I’m feeling a little stuck lately…

I have been to a cemetery on the the southern most point of the United States, both the SouthEastern and SouthWestern part. I saw the graves in New Orleans, Wyoming, South Dakota, Montana and Kentucky. I know where Annie Oakley and Wild Bill are buried. I have felt the power of sacred Native American ground. I witnessed the ghost orbs over creepy Gilberts Grave. I have even drank a bud light on my great-grandmothers catholic grave.

There’s something about a cemetery.

Something about being in a new place and seeing the history all laid in one place. That this specific place is made sacred by their bodies.

I don’t even want to be buried. I don’t want a headstone or a memorial. I want to be cremated. In fact I think everyone in my family wants to be cremated.

My dad specifically wants his ashes shot out of an east facing canon.

My mom wants to be sprinkled on the top of her Harney Peak.

My brother might be considering a pyre.

I just want to be cremated. I want my ashes spread in the places I loved. I saw a movie once where at the funeral each person was given a little bag of ashes they were to throw into the ocean, wishing the deceased goodbye. Creepy? A little. But still pretty awesome. Maybe I should just give all the people I loved the most my ashes and tell them to spread them where they think I would have liked. Where did we spend together that had the most meaning, leave me with the memories there. I have no doubt of those people someone will take me to Harney, someone will leave me at my grandparents farm, someone will leave me at my home, and someone will leave me in the bluegrass.

Rob Montgomery: “The people you love become ghosts inside of you and like this you keep them alive.”