cemeteries are my refuge. a place to disappear into markers of past lives. a place to rest my worries, or confront them. these are the parks of contemplation. okay, it sounds a bit morbid, but cemeteries are the only place where i can really kick back. and ruined graveyards are the most favoured.
when i lived in santa cruz, california, there was a house i lived in for a few years that was fifteen minutes walk from the beach (could sometimes hear the crash of waves or complaints of sea lions or screams of roller coaster riders), ten minutes walk from the downtown garden mall and my favoured coffeehouse, and fifteen minutes from Evergreen cemetery, which was situated right on the edge of a Redwood park, nestled in a hill, overgrown with ivy, ruined by overgrowth and earthquakes and vandals. eucalyptus trees shaded one side, redwood trees shaded another.
i worked graveyard, and was quite the night owl, and would often find myself wandering the streets of the city after midnight, sometimes just because i could, other times to get my thoughts and emotions together. i'd start off with a stroll down to the coffee joint for coffee, or to the Red Room for a couple shots of jaeger. then heading down to the ocean some nights, either straight down near the Boardwalk, looking at the silent rides on one side, and the echoes of waves on the other, crossing the Lost Boys Rail Bridge, dropping stones into the mouth of the San Lorenzo river. or heading up towards the lighthouse along East cliff, with its view of the Bay, and sometimes catching sight of midnight surfers out in the waves. or just wandering the streets of the city, following the calls of birds, who'd always lead me in some interesting direction. and most nights i'd find myself heading towards Evergreen, and i had several ways to get there: over near my home in a straight direction and stopping by the Windmill Bed and Breakfast where i could look at/listen to the waterwheel or sneak into their back garden to sit in the grillwork gazebo covered in little white lights and blow smoke bubbles. up from the red room, going down Squid Row (stopping to play a tune on the big rusty Hummingbird xylophone, or dropping off a dead lighter in the top hatted frog sign with many light sockets now being used by friends and i as a dead lighter graveyard) and up slick stairs to the old Louden Nelson home and across a park in front of the catholic church. Over down by the Sash Mill, where some back road dumped me into the back playing field of a catholic school that was a short cut over towards the freeway overpass that most of theses paths lead to. then up the spiral approach of the overpass, which used to be covered in graffiti that i dubbed the Cola Wars: COKE IS IT! PEPSI ROCKS! RC IS THE BEST!, and then spiral down to walk along a path next to the freeway, kicking fallen eucalyptus leaves and twigs, making sure to step on the one stencil of a footprint with the word CLICK! written next to it and down the hill to the edge of Harvey West Park and if it was the right time of year, squinting in moonlight or lamplight at blackberry bushes for a late night snack.
There is a main gateway to Evergreen, but i always used to take the first entrance, and wobbly stack of bricks that i call the Dr. Seuss steps, and which had a path straight up to the chinese graveyard, which really were just a few headstones way out of the way, and a little wooden deck that overlooked the Army graveyard. a good place to sit and rest and look out for other people that might be haunting the place. sometimes a group of gothy punks would barge in and rampage around, and i always made sure they never saw me, as, well, they were punks. One time i made some eerie noises and they got spooked and i never saw them there again. usually the only other inhabitants of the place were wildlife: deer, a skunk, a couple cats, and even a goat! often it was just sitting on this deck that satisfied me, other times i'd find myself heading along the many paths and up the main stretch, heritage way, i think, to the highest point. picking roses from a rose tree. sitting on a crypt and writing by candle light. Once i was doing this near the main road and a security guard for the park drove by and called me over, telling me gruffly to leave, his urgings echoed by a big dog next to him. i got my notebook and went down to the Seuss steps and waited for him to come back. this time the guy was more relaxed, as i asked him what sort of regulations there were about the park, since there were no signs giving closing hours. he said there actually wasn't any closing times, but a month before they'd found a young man in a crypt late at night masturbating among the bones, and so now all the nearby park security were pretty edgy about people in the cemetery. i guess i would be too.
cemeteries don't creep me out, especially at night. in fact, they do the opposite. they calm me. it's the place of catharsis. it's where i think, and think and think until i can't think anymore and all my worries fade out into the place. i always left Evergreen to go home with a lighter heart. if i couldn't sleep at night, a trip to evergreen would at east get me tired enough that i could crash into bed back home.
i still go and visit Evergreen, when i'm back in California. always during the daytime now. it's green. still ruined, although attempts at upkeep are being made. there's a rather overgrown cemetery here in London i've been to a couple times, called Highgate, and there really isn't any comparison. Highgate is pretty large, and very old. headstones have fallen over and trees grow right up through them. many famous people both remembered and forgotten are buried there. the two main problems with Highgate are that i can't just pop in as it's, well, gated. and they charge a pound or so for entrance. it is divided into two sides, one, the east, where you can wander all over, and the second, the West, where you can only enter as part of a guided tour, which is the way the caretakers raise money and keep it from falling into more ruin. The West side is much more elaborate, filled with architecture that seems to be from a dream, or an elaborate video game. being on a tour means you hear far too much information than you can retain, about the people buried there who you don't really care about, and no time to linger and smell and contemplate. it is still a wonder, and i plan on returning again and again.
another page contains this text with over a dozen pictures illustrating Highgate cemetery.