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| Memento mori |
"O mortal man and reasonable being! If, after death, you do not wish to be damned, you must, at least once a day, think of your loathsome end so that you may have a long life and die well."
~ A once-popular admonishment
For the past few years, I’ve carried a tiny onyx skull in my pocket—a personal memento mori, a reminder that life is fleeting and that each moment deserves attention. Smooth and cool to the touch, it's small enough to roll between my fingers unnoticed. Over time, I’ve worn the edges down a little with constant handling. It has become a quiet companion, a touchstone against distraction and a reminder to remain mindful of time’s passing.
Recently, though, I discovered it serves another, rather unexpected purpose. There’s a well-meaning young man at my office, utterly oblivious to social cues, who often corners me in endless conversation. No matter how many times I tell him I’m busy or try to steer him away, he lingers, eager to share one more thought.
One afternoon, out of sheer frustration, I fished the skull from my pocket and began to twirl it absently while he talked. His expression changed at once. He grew pale, muttered something about it being “demonic,” and quickly excused himself. The next time he approached, I repeated the tactic—and, like clockwork, he fled again.
It’s a cruel trick, perhaps, but undeniably effective. I do feel a twinge of guilt; I know he’s needy and means no harm. Still, there are only so many hours in the day—and sometimes, a man must defend his peace by any means available, even if that means letting death do the talking.
I may have to go to confession for this one.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 27th, Feast of San Gaudioso di Napoli
Recently, though, I discovered it serves another, rather unexpected purpose. There’s a well-meaning young man at my office, utterly oblivious to social cues, who often corners me in endless conversation. No matter how many times I tell him I’m busy or try to steer him away, he lingers, eager to share one more thought.
One afternoon, out of sheer frustration, I fished the skull from my pocket and began to twirl it absently while he talked. His expression changed at once. He grew pale, muttered something about it being “demonic,” and quickly excused himself. The next time he approached, I repeated the tactic—and, like clockwork, he fled again.
It’s a cruel trick, perhaps, but undeniably effective. I do feel a twinge of guilt; I know he’s needy and means no harm. Still, there are only so many hours in the day—and sometimes, a man must defend his peace by any means available, even if that means letting death do the talking.
I may have to go to confession for this one.
~ By Giovanni di Napoli, October 27th, Feast of San Gaudioso di Napoli
