into the wild

a man spends 100 days in the wild only to discover that the one thing that granted his freedom is also his oppressor, his true love his only hate, the contrast in the stifling immensity of the outdoors. and he writes, "happiness comes in sharing with others." yet the picture, the picture, the last one taken before his death, his self-portrait. an easy smile, youthful grin. a look that says, "i can do anything." but the audience, we know that he can't. it is heartbreaking, that smile. i know what happens, chris: you're going to die. a slow, painful, solitary death and no one will be the witness, no one except the vast azure sky; the sun -- your god; the birds, your brothers and sisters; the blades of grass blowing in the breeze. they would have a story to tell, if they could talk. we want to be one with nature and yet we can never be, we are always outsmarted, in the end man dies, nature lives. ashes to ashes, ashes to fertilizer, and yet there is still something beautiful in his smile, naive perhaps, the idea that he truly had found happiness if only for a fleeting moment, the question of how many of us ever truly have that moment, and to what length we would go to obtain it.

two weeks later moose hunters found his body. two weeks. if he could have just held on for two more weeks... we think there is no God because he allows such tragedies, yet they never come without a lesson. "happiness comes in sharing with others," his last sentence, tears rolling down his eyes. i walk out of the theater chilled to the bone. i feel restless. i call my mother.