The End of the World
I can’t count how many times my life has ended. My life, like every other, is composed of a series of endings and beginnings, before and afters. I am no stranger to endings, and yet I find myself paralyzed by them. Deep in the July heat I woke up in Toronto, finding myself at the precipice of an ending, at the end of the world itself.
Toronto likes to call itself the heart of Canada, you can feel the blood pumping through the arterial highways, the rhythmic thump of footsteps, people coming and going, clogging the sidewalks and subways. On the right days the tickers on Bay Street run as red as the blood flowing in the city and the air feels like it, thick and hot, like you're swimming through the veins of some grotesque creature. The subway shoots through the city like a signal shot through a fried nerve and it was on one of those signals I found myself. It was hot, the sun had not yet risen but the air stuck to you. Regardless, I could feel the sweat beading on my head, I could feel the weight of my bags dragging me towards the floor, I could feel myself melting as I approached my destination.
When I was young I was stung by a wasp at my grandmother's house. The wasps had built a nest in the garden, underneath a lawn ornament. When we lifted the ornament up you could see the nest and the wasps crawling, writhing in the dirt. The gasoline made them panic, made them writhe faster in a cold and wet confusion. Then the match fell and in a flash of white, hot heat their confusion was evaporated along with their bodies.
Pearson airport reminds me of the doused wasps. people fly in and out, coming and going, carrying on with their lives, but you can smell the gas in the air. There is something to be worried about, some feeling of impending doom, some lit match waiting to fall onto our antennae, to bring us to our end.
I can feel the heat. Another plane broke down leaving me and a handful of others stranded. We talk to who we can, trying to get to the end of the line. I got lucky, it's going to be a long day but I'll get to where I need to go. A restless sleep brings me to Calgary, another airport, another wait. I board another smaller plane. Another restless sleep brings me to Edmonton, another airport, another wait, and another smaller plane. One more restless sleep and I arrive in Yellowknife. Finally nearing the end of my journey. A short car trip and a final smaller plane floating in front of me. This plane with its two wings and propellers is going to bring me to the end of the world.
Nothing awaits me at the end of this flight. Looking out the window of this antique aircraft I can see the trees slowly disappear beneath me. Lakes cover the barren land so much so that it is easier to consider it a sea. In front of me is our cargo, enough food and gas to supply us for an indeterminate amount of time, and the two pilots who helm this plane. I can feel the wind through the door, the air is cold at 8,000 feet and the chill is making its way into my bones. I get what little sleep I can and before I know it we begin our descent. The air on the lake is warm, there are no clouds and the sun greets us as we step out onto the floats, at the end of the world.
I think it's fair to be afraid of the end. When the ropes come untied and you float freely on the waves, there lies within you an uneasiness. A new world lies in front of you, the vast emptiness of the water, and somewhere over the horizon, a new life. You will meet your end many times and many times you will be reborn, like the pharaohs you too shall sail into a new life, but the journey is as daunting for them as it is for you. When you reach the end you are often violently cast out, into the waves, into the storm. The storm will break, eventually, and you will be standing there, on calm waters, moving past the end, to a new start.
The land will seem strange at first, the ground will feel uneasy beneath your feet, you will need to find new legs for this place. It will take time but you will learn to walk again, and eventually you will run. You will need to learn about this place, the days pass in a sunny haze, each one bleeding into the next. The animals here will be strangers to you, but you will walk their trails and use their burrows as landmarks. Eventually a lone caribou will greet you, curious as to who the new stranger is in its land, then more shall greet you. The wolves will smell you and follow you to tell you that this is their home. Eventually you too will find a home here, the sun will shine softly on you, the animals will regard you as an equal and pay you no mind.
The sun may never set here but time still haunts this place. Around you lay the bodies of giants, their curves paint the horizon as they sleep softly. Once they were tall and strong and reached towards the heavens, but slowly came the rain and the rivers. Time marched forward, and grain by grain the mountains flowed through the hourglass.
One day you will be sitting by the water, the warm sun will be on your back and a cool north wind will be blowing the clouds through the sky. Then the land will take a breath, it will hold it, and the world will be plunged into darkness. Night has come for the first time in months. The end approaches you once more, a new death awaits you with open arms, and beyond it, a new life.
