|
 What
does it mean to be alive?
To sit and work and eat and buy things.
To pretend that it’s like that forever.
Up until that moment when it happens.
And then we are real.
The world is for
the living. I think the living made the world "for the living".
The next stage of
progression must be to forget about "the living” and to make the world
for the world.
We all fill our
lives with "living" things, such as materialism, acquaintances, (etc.),
but I often wonder is this really bad?
I'm not sure. I
argue with myself. It seems as though it is the only way to live life
without completely going insane over the impending darkness of the truth,
which no one wants to accept, including myself, because it is so
incredibly dreadful.
I see glimpses of
heaven. It's at the times when I forget so much that the doom doesn't
exist. When life and love and light seem to stretch into forever.
And it is
physical. There is at least a mental connection with the correlation
between life and body. We see ourselves wasting away physically and we
begin to waste away mentally. Yes, it could be a natural instinctual
defense to ensure survival, but it feels even stronger than that.
How long will these words that I am writing right now last? Am I dead?
If so, how strange this part of the passage might be for you right now.
Boo. Why do my words have a seemingly immortal life span, yet my
physical self is so fragile. At times I wish I could turn those tables,
I would much rather just have to re- write things. It would probably be
best, each time the passage would be more advanced and wise. If I am
dead, please carry on my existence by discussing me with someone, or by
placing my picture on your wall. It is the smallest shot at immortality
that I have. |
