DEATH
I am not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
That’s Woody Allen’s take on the issue. Death scares the shit out of me. It wakes me up at night. I wish it didn’t, but it does. I wish I had assurance that everything was going to be all right, that there would be some sort of consciousness afterwards. I would give everything to see a real ghost or apparition. Anything to know there was something. Even if it was evil and hurt me, or sent me insane, at least I would be assured there is something beyond the grave.
Some people say they will be happy when their life ends. They will finally be able to rest. Perhaps I have not suffered as much as them, because I don’t want it to finish and don’t want to sleep forever. It isn’t sleep anyway, it is the end of all consciousness; it is the end of ‘me’. I prefer hell to this -maybe that is hell. Some tell me to take heart that I will always be part of the universe; my particles will go to the ground and become dirt which feeds the tree which give oxygen to the animals and so on –a kind of reincarnation. That is meaningless to me if ‘me’ is gone.
Leaving a legacy for your children seems worthless if I have no consciousness; I would not know how things turn out for them. I do not live through them. I wouldn’t know they put fresh flowers at my grave or commemorate my life with a statue or trust fund. I would not know if they thanked me when they receive their Nobel Peace Prize. I would not stay alive in their memories. Their memory is not ‘me’.
It all starts heading down a terrible path. If there is no legacy why do anything for anyone unless it comes back to me in this life? Everything I do would be based on making my life better. I care for friends because they are a good asset to have later on. I do good works so I can receive recognition. And of course I can’t let the scales tip too far. Why care about human rights overseas if it does not come back to help me? Let the future worry about the environment. Why honor those who gave their life for our freedom in terrible wars? They don’t know we are honoring them. Why give any respect to the dead at all?
Perhaps for society to stay a little sane there must be an underlying hope for an afterlife.
But that doesn’t help me and my sleepless nights. I have been trying to teach myself to make the most of things now as I’ll be dead before I know it. That of course is an oxymoron, and a good way to sap the fun out of everything.
Death isn’t a gamble. I can slap down some money at the bar for best looking race horse. There is choice in gambling. I don’t have any choice in the matter death, and that petrifies me. The same feeling I had when I was nine and being thrown off the top diving board by the school bully.
In that split second after one draws their final breath, they will know more then all the savants and geniuses who ever lived. Or perhaps they will know nothing.
That’s Woody Allen’s take on the issue. Death scares the shit out of me. It wakes me up at night. I wish it didn’t, but it does. I wish I had assurance that everything was going to be all right, that there would be some sort of consciousness afterwards. I would give everything to see a real ghost or apparition. Anything to know there was something. Even if it was evil and hurt me, or sent me insane, at least I would be assured there is something beyond the grave.
Some people say they will be happy when their life ends. They will finally be able to rest. Perhaps I have not suffered as much as them, because I don’t want it to finish and don’t want to sleep forever. It isn’t sleep anyway, it is the end of all consciousness; it is the end of ‘me’. I prefer hell to this -maybe that is hell. Some tell me to take heart that I will always be part of the universe; my particles will go to the ground and become dirt which feeds the tree which give oxygen to the animals and so on –a kind of reincarnation. That is meaningless to me if ‘me’ is gone.
Leaving a legacy for your children seems worthless if I have no consciousness; I would not know how things turn out for them. I do not live through them. I wouldn’t know they put fresh flowers at my grave or commemorate my life with a statue or trust fund. I would not know if they thanked me when they receive their Nobel Peace Prize. I would not stay alive in their memories. Their memory is not ‘me’.
It all starts heading down a terrible path. If there is no legacy why do anything for anyone unless it comes back to me in this life? Everything I do would be based on making my life better. I care for friends because they are a good asset to have later on. I do good works so I can receive recognition. And of course I can’t let the scales tip too far. Why care about human rights overseas if it does not come back to help me? Let the future worry about the environment. Why honor those who gave their life for our freedom in terrible wars? They don’t know we are honoring them. Why give any respect to the dead at all?
Perhaps for society to stay a little sane there must be an underlying hope for an afterlife.
But that doesn’t help me and my sleepless nights. I have been trying to teach myself to make the most of things now as I’ll be dead before I know it. That of course is an oxymoron, and a good way to sap the fun out of everything.
Death isn’t a gamble. I can slap down some money at the bar for best looking race horse. There is choice in gambling. I don’t have any choice in the matter death, and that petrifies me. The same feeling I had when I was nine and being thrown off the top diving board by the school bully.
In that split second after one draws their final breath, they will know more then all the savants and geniuses who ever lived. Or perhaps they will know nothing.
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