Everything is dying. Decaying into oblivion. The clouds burst. Seasons end. Every novel- death of a story. Television progress with slow death of characters. The iron fences rust. The roads breaking down under our weight. God, stars, plants, flowers, cities, men, women, children, all of history- dead. The universe, in itself, heading into chaos. The external material human dying, and being replaced. Yet, the human consciousness defying the linear time. Ignoring the constant dread.
I do not believe in nothingness. We pass from one form to another, not in our consciousness, but in our material being. Reduced to ashes, or eaten by tiny microbes. Surrounded by our ancestry. The family line of the mankind. The ultimate recycler. Yet, this whole spectacle of death is invisible. The skirmishes with death are opaque, desensitized of its humanity. Every death hidden away from civilization, covered in robes of platitudes. A life summed up in sobs, in forgetful silences, and the immediate preparation for the continuation of life. Every tongue is stuck in the dialectic of grieving and reconciliation with their own death. For those who believe in God, there is still an eternity that waits. For those who have desecrated their idols, have refused to believe in the metaphysics of the universe, who chase certainty with a conviction, how do they look at the skies, or stare down heights, and not sense the vertigo of death? Do we hide our dead behind rituals, glorify them by ideologies and eulogies? That startling emotion, which is the negation of all life. The end of all ends- the silent chaos- the life of death.
I believe death is a longer continuity than life. Death is artless. It is emptiness scattered across the universe. When Death is, I am not. It is through life, I experience death. I am conscious of death, for I have lived. Despite this decay and destruction, I carry this life into an eternal continuity. I am beyond death.
