I don't feel like I'm a horrible person nor that I should be ashamed when I admit here that I am desperately afraid of my own death. Of course the act of dying isn't what I'm frightened of, it's what comes afterward, as I'm sure it is with the great many of the race that have similar fears.
Of course, it's probably not that many, now that I think about it. After you take out the devout religious folk, those that, as a part of culture, accept death without question or conflict, those that don't think enough to care, and other groups that wouldn't show up, like secular humanists that find some part of the natural world, some stratum, maybe, from which to chisel off a piece of morality and comfort regarding the state of what is greater than the universe.
What if we're just one type of intelligent creature that, in the course of finding our way to the top of the chain of planetary command, adapted using optimism towards infinity as a means to an end, and now that I find myself on top, the means are a greater hindrance than a help.
I spent nine hours of my waking day out of my room and around campus, a few of them eating, a few reading, a few playing, some time writing, walking, etc. I mean, I don't feel like I've wasted any of my time. Today was a good day, I guess. And yet when I extrapolate this... even if every day is as productive and as complete as this one (there are days more so and many more less so), I'll die having accomplished nothing and everything and everyone will forget me instantly.
It's kind of bizarre, really. The best description I've found for myself so far is (thanks to Michael Frayn for this one) an arrangement of material at a particular region of time. So basically, what's happening is that a small part of the universe is averse to changing and shifting form or melding back into the rest of it. I guess I'm a knot, and physics will undo me in time.
I'm not, though, sure that I won't come to greet my future with ambivalence or even welcome arms. Despite my angst, I probably have quite a few years left with which to conjure answers or find them should they exist already.
Of course, it's probably not that many, now that I think about it. After you take out the devout religious folk, those that, as a part of culture, accept death without question or conflict, those that don't think enough to care, and other groups that wouldn't show up, like secular humanists that find some part of the natural world, some stratum, maybe, from which to chisel off a piece of morality and comfort regarding the state of what is greater than the universe.
What if we're just one type of intelligent creature that, in the course of finding our way to the top of the chain of planetary command, adapted using optimism towards infinity as a means to an end, and now that I find myself on top, the means are a greater hindrance than a help.
I spent nine hours of my waking day out of my room and around campus, a few of them eating, a few reading, a few playing, some time writing, walking, etc. I mean, I don't feel like I've wasted any of my time. Today was a good day, I guess. And yet when I extrapolate this... even if every day is as productive and as complete as this one (there are days more so and many more less so), I'll die having accomplished nothing and everything and everyone will forget me instantly.
It's kind of bizarre, really. The best description I've found for myself so far is (thanks to Michael Frayn for this one) an arrangement of material at a particular region of time. So basically, what's happening is that a small part of the universe is averse to changing and shifting form or melding back into the rest of it. I guess I'm a knot, and physics will undo me in time.
I'm not, though, sure that I won't come to greet my future with ambivalence or even welcome arms. Despite my angst, I probably have quite a few years left with which to conjure answers or find them should they exist already.
1 comment:
"I guess I'm a knot and physics will undue me"
it's strange to think that I'm an organic being tied down by so many physical laws, while the perceived freedom of my thoughts gives me delusions of somehow existing outside of this mechanic reality. Existence is terrifyingly surreal and undeniably trivial. My grandma had heart surgery and lost most of her 65 years of memory in a matter of minutes. This isn't frightening to me though, like it probably should be. I know all of my sandcastles will be washed to the sea. It only worries me that we aren't afforded enough time to find all the answers while we're still sentient.
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