On Death

Wandering on the hollow, cold, and dark object of what death is, I think I reached a conclusion, a down-to-earth one if I might dare. Death is always someone else’s death, not ever our own. We cannot see it except through the eyes of another person, because death and us will never be in the same place at the same time, when death comes, we have left, and while we are still here, death is not. I tried and tried to allude to empty thoughts on it, but it is useless, because all death is, all that it will ever be, is just our sure destination and nothing else. The only sure thing that we have since the very first moment that we come to life is that one day we will die. There is no question over it, the only thing that remains, is the “when”. Not even the how matters, that is just a means to an end. Maybe you will wonder, why did I just start writing at the very beginning for the end. Well, because I just wanted to take it out of the way. We, even though it is the only certainty that we have, never think of it, never think that it might be tomorrow, that it might be after a couple of hours because we are not accustomed to the idea, unfortunately, we do not think of our every moment as our last one. That in my opinion is a very big mistake on our part, being that we are just a number of days, I still have to understand why we fill those days with everything that has so little meaning to us. With things that make those days just a little bit darker, just a little bit sadder. What makes us believe that we will get a second chance, why are we such dreamers I cannot understand. Actually, I would say not even dreamers; we are so deluded and so high on the idea of our greatness that we cannot see it even with our eyes wide open. I know that you expected to have answers reading this, I know I do when I start reading anything at all, but that is not the destination of my path that I started today, and this is just a journey, just as life is. I am also afraid that at the end of this journey if you decide to stay with me, you will be left with a lot more questions than answers. Honestly, that is precisely my objective. I do not aspire to change your views; I do not aspire to change your opinion, because as a fellow human I respect your personality. All I aspire to do is express myself and my views and to anyone that’s listening, create the idea that there might be more to it. That is all I have ever tried to do and will keep doing so till the end of my days, the end of my journey that might be tonight, tomorrow, or fifty years from now. As I said before, that is our only certainty; everything else is just additional information.So here we are, me talking about death and you following me. What amazes me is that no dead person is a bad dead person. After someone dies you will not hear many bad words for that person, even if while that person was alive made everyone else’s life impossible, or miserable, once that person is dead those bad things that it did, they will disappear, death will take them along with him. Maybe this happens because we get that little thought that now life is better for the rest of us, that the person got the major punishment that there can ever be, death. I think this has nothing to do with the dead person, I think this happens because we come to the sudden realization of how small and unimportant we are, how fast it goes and the moment that we will depart from this life, is so unpredictable and so close that it makes everything else dismissible. That is why whatever the dead person did while still alive, does not matter anymore that, is why it will never matter anymore. We are small, and we think that the everyday things that we do define us, define who and what we are. I do not to any extend agree with this idea, I have turn to hate, love, hate again, and love again human beings. That is because I did not know any better because I made it my way to “judge” people and their choices until I realized that I am nobody to do so. I am just a mere mortal that is responsible only for its own actions, and I should be able, as a whole person to accept their consequences. Sometimes this is the hardest part to do because we will always try to put the blame somewhere else, to someone else. Why we do this, is because we are not accepting the concept of death, we try our hardest to refuse that concept because that means that we open our eyes to the reality of how small and insignificant we are. That my friend is one thing that keeps us from forgiving and forgetting, keeps us from looking and moving forward. Why we do this to ourselves, I do not know. It is our twisted way of refusing death, by carrying all our burdens with us, by letting shadows of the past follow us in every direction that we take. This might be because by thinking “I will never forgive/forget this and that” we somehow add days to our number; we add days filled with hatred because somehow hatred is, unfortunately, stronger than love. I call it our twisted way of prolonging our lives because when we are happy and forgiving, our days tend to fly by. Time seems to be never enough to experience all the good things that we have, to extend all the love that fills our hearts, so we fill it with darkness, regret, and hate because like this a single day will feel like an eternity. We will count the minutes that will turn into hours and hours into days to never-ending suffering. The sad truth though is that no matter how strong that hate we choose to fill our hearts and souls, it will never beat death. At this point I started wondering, is it even worth it? My conclusion is that it isn’t. Nothing is worth spending our limited number of days dwelling on what if’s, how could, and what could have been, because as much as you think that you are, I invite you to just try and divide it in half and form that takes away another half and that my friend is what we are, nothing more and nothing less than a number of days. What you decide to fill those days with, will always be up to you and no one else, because we have to hold for dear life to the illusion of choice, to the illusion of control.