Alexander Died In Babylon

Alexander Died In Babylon

When I was a boy I dreamed of riding a good horse to new country, sharing the experience with my border collie. I didn’t know what his name would be, but it would be something western like Jesse, or Buck. The journey would take several weeks, and there would be no trail to follow. I imagined I would have a side-kick. Someone like Gabby Hayes. At age 9 or 10, I watched an old Tom Sawyer movie. His side-kick was Becky Thatcher. I was intrigued. This opened up new and exciting possibilities.

As time passed I realized there is no new country, and living in suburbia, I never had the opportunity to get very good with horses. Besides, as you might imagine, I had never considered what would happen when we got there. It was simply “Born to Run” (we’re pulling out of here to win). Gazing out to where the road and sky meet and feeling compelled to find out what’s there beyond the horizon is not uncommon in the people of the west. It’s in their DNA. 

With romantic musical accompaniment, the Duke said to his lady, “I’ll build you a cabin in the bend in the river, where the cottonwoods grow.” We can be certain he did not obtain a building permit. Did he have flood insurance? I’m sure it was “open concept”. How was their internet connection? Did the local market have organic produce? Was it a long drive to the airport?

My side-kick Kari Kirkland and I did find each other. Eventually I became aware that “new country” doesn’t necessarily imply somewhere geographical. Interest and affection for horses became living with cats. I am more than content with all of this. Growing up teaches us about limitations. We are defined not just by what we hang on to, and who we stand with, but also by what and who we choose to let go. My friend Rachael Strickland and I share a love of quotes (and Spanish wine).  We often aptly apply the quote by Leonor Jean Christine Soulas d’Allainval, “an embarrassment of riches”. It most certainly applies to my life.

Alexander the Great died in Babylon. Cary Grant died in Davenport Iowa. I can’t do much with that. Everyone dies, at least a little, in Davenport Iowa (I don’t have to worry about hate mail, the benefit of an almost non-existent readership). At that time Babylon was the greatest city in the world. He did not choose to build a little cabin by a bend in the river where the cottonwoods grow. My guess is he never saw a cottonwood. Alexander was considered by himself, and those around him to be a 32 year old god. I imagine life was pretty good. Leading his army around the world, charging into battle with his bright red cape on Bucephalus, the greatest horse of antiquity, with no regard for his personal safety, one can see how the mythology took hold. Not that skeptics didn’t have reason to question. In a drunken rage (which was fairly common) he threw a spear at his closest friend Cleitus, killing him. Cleitus had saved his life in battle. Oops. After years of suffering from malaria and liver disease, Alexander lay dying. He and his people, must have been in shock. You take a risk if you get to know gods on a personal level. 

Alan Watts thought we were all gods. I understood him when I read his work in college. But these days, with two pairs of glasses, daily anti-acid, and occasional vertigo, I’m less certain. Becoming less certain is another byproduct of aging. Although at times I can’t remember my current street address (apparently, not only do you need all the numbers, but the sequence matters too) I clearly remember my address when I was in the 6th grade. And so it goes. These days I also remember, and at times dwell on, clear memories of being insensitive or hurtful, going all the way back to when I was a child. Selective memory does not allow you to do the selecting. 

Eventually we realize that time is the final currency, even if you're Alexander the Great. Babylon yielded to the test of time, though Davenport Iowa is still going strong. Still, looking back, imagining riding a good horse to new country…there’s something to that.