The Dash on Our Headstones

Whenever I travel, I walk through cemeteries and graveyards, looking at the graves and markers throughout. Sometimes I walk through them looking for the resting place of specific people like Samuel Beckett, Jean Paul Sartre, or Simon de Beauvoir in the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montparnasse_Cemetery" rel="noopener ugc nofollow" target="_blank">Montparnassee Cemetery</a> in Paris or Marc Chagall in the cemetery in St. Paul de Vence. Other times, I just walk through the grounds, looking at the names, dates, and inscriptions on the markers, thinking about the individuals laid to rest and memorialized in the space. As I walk amongst those buried in these places, I think about the brevity of our own lives, the fleeting nature our very physical existence. As Job proclaims, “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and come to their end without hope” (Job 7:6). Job compares his existence to the swiftness of a weaver’s shuttle across the loom, moving from one end to another at a rapid pace before moving on to the next level. Job laments that his life moves quickly, beginning and ending in a blur, a quick movement across the loom of time. <a href="https://interminablerambling.medium.com/the-dash-on-our-headstones-006db3d2d329">Visit Now</a>