The Grand Finale
I am ill equipped for what is to come.
I am mortal. Everything that lives dies. That’s how it is. Every person alive today, all seven billion, ninety eight million, six hundred and twenty four thousand, nine hundred and sixty six… according to Worldometers dot info via Google on this day, the seventeenth of February, two thousand and thirteen, at five thirty five pm Australian eastern standard time… will in one hundred years be dead, give or take a few… maybe.
That’s pretty morbid huh?
But is it really? It’s is a fact of life.
And I am ill equipped, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to vanish into… into… nothing… Where do all they go?
Perhaps it’s absurd to think that people who vanish go somewhere? Or, maybe it’s not absurd, because it’s natural to create stories about people who die. Things that do exist in our lives go somewhere whenever they are away, even the car keys. But that certain something that goes when a person dies, that thing that isn’t even a thing that leaves us, our live itself, it just goes. How can something that isn’t actually a thing go anywhere at all? Life, as we feel it, as it is, is something that exists in the experiences we have, made up of the world that is. And when it goes, then the structure that allowed it to be crumbles and is gone, just like a house of cards, the cards are still there but the house is no more, and it didn’t go anywhere, it just fell.
And here I am. Contemplating the big nothing. The grand finale, the end of it all. And the World still turns.
That’s how it is, and the fact of the matter that it doesn’t matter; it doesn’t matter. Life goes on. People everywhere, all seven billion plus, create meaning every day.
Even if the World (with a capital W) is absurd and contains no absolute preset unchanging meaning (and if you disagree just run with it for a second) then, it doesn’t matter. We still create (or see, or find, or believe that we have) meaning for ourselves, and for one another, each and every day (or at least for some of them) while we are here. So even if there is no grand reason for it all, the ones we share still matter. Perhaps even more so.
John Green, Paper Towns (via observando)
- It takes all sorts to make this World
Nothing ever gets to its own end.
So despite the way things fell shattered,
And despite the way events had left him bare…
Like it was over…
And despite the bottle of booze,
And the ways of escape,
And the feeling that he would never rise again,
After a fall,
It simply didn’t end.
He was still there,
Staring at the pieces left behind,
Pieces of love,
Pieces that were sacrificed,
Things he had shared.
And there he stayed,
Wanting it to be over,
And yet the World still changed,
As he remained lost in an ending,
Never realising all the while,
It was instead a beginning.
There he stood torn,
Between one moment and the next,
So far disassociated and removed,
He forgot how to take another step,
And his World ground to a halt,
As he handed the past over to tomorrow,
So unaligned with today,
And yet he still changed,
As all things do,
Sam Keen (via devilduck)
I still get confused about whether I can be sure that we don’t know all that much, or whether we know more then we realize, we just don’t know how much we know… you know?
The public audience
And… I censor myself.