The iron gates loomed large before me.
I walked towards them from the roadway, pausing for a moment to take in the expanse of them. Corroding, green in color, I wondered if they were built intent of keeping people out of the cemetery, or on keeping whatever may lay in there inside.

I took several moments.
A moment to survey the entrance and what lays beyond. I took in the massive brick wall holding up the gates. The words Springvale Necropolis plastered on the wall like military medals on an old soldier.
I took a moment to honour the dead that lay beyond the gates. A moment to contemplate what I was about to do. A moment to consider if there would be any karma fallout.
Finally, I took a moment to tie up a loose shoelace.

I started to walk, wandering through the gates, passing by the empty guardhouse, continuing on a path down to a small lake. A serene place for mourners.

I broke into a jog. I continued through some parkland, then across a lawn cemetery. I pictured myself in an episode of Buffy and broke into a run, dodging monster hands breaking out of their graves to grasp at my ankles. A small rush of adrenalin as I continued my jaunt through the protestant section, with simple grave headstones, practical as ever and then on into the roman catholic segment where massive statues of angels, saints and family crypts stand revelling in the glory of death.

Not content with a mere wild run through the christian factions, (clearly, in the afterlife we continue to segregate ourselves into our various religious identities), I worked my way through the section for followers of Judaism, Islam and then into a melting pot of Asian beliefs.

At this point I was headed off at the pass, by a security guard, arms folded and standing looking at me, like the principal at the end of a school corridor as the rowdy kids run riot.

"Are ya right there mate?" said the guard, dressed in a yellow shirt, with muscled arms and a bit of attitude.
"Yeah, I'm okay, just taking a jog," I replied off-handedly.
"Well, you might wanna take a jog somewhere else, MATE. Don't want to upset the mourners."
I looked around. I could only see a couple of people around and I admit, I had purposely avoided anyone else who might be taking a quiet moment with the remains of their love one, but I figured this wasn't a time to argue, and besides it did feel kind of wrong to be running about in such a solemn place.

"No worries, mate. Didn't mean to upset anyone," I looked at him a little sheepishly.

"It's not a park, mate. It's a cemetery."

Eyes downcast, and feeling like a very naughty boy, I kind of shrugged my shoulders, "I know, I won't do it again."

" 's alright mate. Have a good day."

Walking towards the nearest gate, I was filled with feelings of a mix of shame, embarrassment and just a small touch of thrill.

...

It's been six months since I started this experiment with my friend. I started writing it almost immediately after finishing the task.

The way a cemetery makes you feel is weird. It's a place of quiet, of melancholy. Taking a run does feel wrong. It's as if by running you are thumbing your nose at the value of life. Of the lives that people have lived.

It's a reflection of my everyday life, where I hear on the news about people dying in poverty, in floods, in famine, in wars and of AIDS, cancer and other life-thieving disease. It's so easy to just run by and not pay attention to the countless thousands who pass on to the next world every single day. So many of which could be avoided if people like me paid some attention instead of following our own selfish motivations, closing out the view of the people lying by the side of the path.

Every life is worth something.


I don't plan to end up in a cemetery, but in the end I guess it might not be completely my desicison. I don't want a stone, although I admire those that have them. I hope someone cares enough to take my ashes somewhere beautiful, where there is water. Take me to an ocean, a stream or a lake. Cast me to the wind and water.

The next time I go to a cemetery, I won't be running. I'll be taking the time to stop, read the names on the headstones, and consider who that person may have been, and maybe still is, albeit in a different "body". I'll consider those who I have known, who are no longer here and feel blessed for the gift that is life.