Limestone Cemetery, Warren County

On my way back from the short jaunt on the Tanbark Trail, I told myself I had enough time (and courage) to do one of two things, but not both: I could either explore a certain abandoned house that I've had my eye on, or I could take the long dirt lane marked "Limestone Cemetery."  I've noticed the lane many times, but it seems to wind out along the edge of private woods and fields, so I've hesitated to follow it.  I mean, what if it goes to a private family cemetery?  What if a local on a gator with an AR-16 asks what I'm doing in his hayfield?

It's true that I felt like I was on private property, but at the top of the lane, where it comes to the edge of the woods, there was indeed a small gravel parking area replete with a weathered handicap sign for the area nearest to the graves.  

I imagine there was probably a church up here at one time.  That's how most rural cemeteries got placed, in centuries past.  In the southern part of the state, and most notably in West Virginia, family cemeteries are usually located on family farms--and that was what I was hoping to avoid here.  

While I was on the remote hilltop, I took the opportunity to text my daughters, who are both upset about the needless attack on Iran.  One of my daughters is doing a semester in Jordan, and it's not clear yet how American aggression in the region will affect her.  Not that she's my only concern: I ache for all the innocent and those who stand in harm's way.  More needless violence, and all of it a ploy to distract us from real issues.

There's nothing like an old cemetery on a far-away hilltop to give you a sense of perspective about life...and vanity...and violence...and death...and eternity.  We all end up here, don't we?  We've all got a limited number of years to make good on these lives we've been given.  We will all be forgotten eventually.  Even those who remember us will follow after us and themselves be forgotten.  We can etch our names in marble and attach those names on glass-and-concrete towers; we can name things after ourselves and assume that we will be known and respected forever.  But we all come to this.  

I struggled with substance abuse at one time in my life.  In the cemetery today, I had reason to recall (with horror) some of the beastly things I did when I was "in my cups."  And there, for the first time, I was able to feel a degree of compassion for the author(s) of today's chaos and violence.  They're poisoned souls.  They've been intoxicated and enslaved, utterly owned by power, and money, and arrogance, and greed--just as I was once intoxicated and owned by another kind of poison.  They're in their cups.  And for the first time ever, I was able to honestly pray for their healing...