12-6-18 Parting of the Sensory by Modest Mouse

12-6-18

As we get older, the amount of funerals you begin to attend starts to grow…exponentially. It seems like there comes a point where, for the most part, many of us start to become desensitized, at least externally.

When I was first listening to this song, I used to see it as anthem to futility. Something along the lines of, “we came from nothing, we will return to nothing, so nothing really matters.” I found some relief in this concept. Everything seemed somewhat more manageable, even though it may have lost some of its splendor. Themes of loss, defeat, submission, they all are focal throughout the song—how could I not interpret such a nihilist outlook.

I suppose I still see the song in a similar way, but the lens in which I view is no longer as bleak. In fact it was through losing two close family members, and using this song as catharsis that helped me evaluate it in a new light. I hadn’t searched it out with the intent of soothing my grief, but it would keep finding me no matter what playlist I would put on. Lines that seemed poetically forced now brought new meaning. “Dehydrate back into minerals | a lifelong walk to the same exact spot | carbon’s anniversary, the parting of the sensory.” That has to be one of the simplest way to describe death and one’s general journey in life. We’re doomed to “dehydrate back into minerals,” and though our physical bodies are being driven by inexplicable forces, when we die our senses of this world supposedly go with us, thus “the parting of the sensory.”

There’s such profound beauty in this concept, enough that we as a species have been using its allegorical references for epochs now. “Dust to dust,” is no different than “dehydrate back into minerals.” The book of Genesis tells us “by the sweat of your brow you will eat your food until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken; for dust you are and to dust you will return.” Many of us have heard this, and with it we begin to realize that death will embrace us and we will return in some shape or form back to the earth.

When I listen to Issac Brock, lead singer of Modest Mouse, frantically chant the final verse of the song I feel a primal sense of resolution; one that no religious text has really ever seem to deliver. “Someday you will die and somehow something’s gonna steal your carbon | Someday you will die and somehow something’s gonna steal your carbon.” In breaking it down to the actual building block  that makes us, I feel a stronger sense of significance in my insignificance. To return back to just “dust” I have little inclination in feeling like I matter. For whatever reason to think my “carbon” will live on beyond me I feel a stronger interconnectedness forming. Hey, whatever works for you, right?

We are driven by grief in such immense ways. It’s a cataclysmic shift, its impact is often so large we can’t  hardly begin to evaluate its true breadth until much time has passed. But we should not be hesitant to embrace this element of life. It’s jagged nature is able to sculpt us into more refined versions of ourselves.

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