Touch of Death

[P3nT4gR4m]

A lot of mystical philosophies have a notion of "conquering death" or words to that effect. I never took it to mean beating or cheating death with some kind of rosy afterlife like a lot of people seemed to. I took it to mean conquering the fear of death, actually facing up to the fact of it, the inevitability of it, awaiting you at the end, whenever that might be.

Lot of people bury their heads in the sand and try to kinda ignore the fact but the whole time they're not quite cutting it, not quite dealing with the stark reality. It aint easy to face up to. I mean to really face up to (or maybe it is for some, just not me) but, when you do, it's kinda empowering. Life is a bit sweeter when you know it aint going to last. Moments are seized with a bit more urgency and relish.

Again, my experience. Prolly not the same for everyone.

[Lies]

A lot of mystical philosophies have a notion of "conquering death" or words to that effect. I never took it to mean beating or cheating death with some kind of rosy afterlife like a lot of people seemed to. I took it to mean conquering the fear of death, actually facing up to the fact of it, the inevitability of it, awaiting you at the end, whenever that might be.

Lot of people bury their heads in the sand and try to kinda ignore the fact but the whole time they're not quite cutting it, not quite dealing with the stark reality. It aint easy to face up to. I mean to really face up to (or maybe it is for some, just not me) but, when you do, it's kinda empowering. Life is a bit sweeter when you know it aint going to last. Moments are seized with a bit more urgency and relish.

Again, my experience. Prolly not the same for everyone.

Reminds me of this zen story.

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

[Phox]

Death. Ah yes, death. Death is important. Death is fascinating. Death is terrifying. And yet would I welcome it?

I died once. I don't recall what it was like. All I remember is passing out and waking up in the hospital. Learned my lesson right quick about those pretty little bottles in the cupboard. Maybe I was too young, maybe I blocked the memories. They told me that they had to resuscitate me and pump my stomach. But I have no idea what happened between the time I went unconscious until the time that I was in the hospital bed. But they told me that I woke up in the ambulance. I seemed incredibly lucid and calm to them. Again, I remember none of that. So what happened?

This experience has done no less than give me a morbid fascination with death. Have I lost loved ones? You bet your boots I have. Did it hurt? Of course it did. Knowing that one must die, and being bereaved are different animals altogether. For my own part, I do not fear death. My own death is not a concern. Perhaps it has to do with a lack of self-esteem. Or a desire to find out what I have forgotten, or whether there was anything to forget. To this day, I have strong suicidal urges that are almost academic in their nature. But what always stops me from acting upon them is the thought of leaving behind mourners. Odd. I don't know why anyone would care about my death, as it is an inevitability. Life is pain, why suffer it? And yet, though life is pain, it is clear that by selfishly trying to avoid this fate for myself, I am heaping more pain upon others. I would rather wander the lands of Nod than cause that sort of suffering among my own loved ones.

Rambling, off topic, nonsensical. Hit the trifecta with this one...

There was a time, when I was about 16 or 17 and high on anything that could kill brain cells, that I would agree with this. Since that time, I have experienced death only a handful of times and usually in a tangential way. The one close family member I have known who did expire in an unfortunate bog of alcohol and pumpkin-orange skin, though, I think about every single day. All that shit they say about Jesus watching you so you better make sure you're doing the right thing? Even when I subscribed to it, it was never as powerful as the burning question in my mind about whether this drunken, flawed, self-destructive person I loved more than anything, would approve of my actions.

I agree with you that death is not a big deal, but only as it applies to myself, my own stream of consciousness. I expect by the end of my time (and quite possible before it happens) I will have long since tired of every recycled thought my meager brain can produce. But death isn't about you, you narcissistic fuck. It's about all the people you know, it's about the people you've touched and who have touched you. It's about the fact that our lives are built on the connections we form with one another, and the sense of shock and pain when those connections are severed forever, no matter how prepared you think you are for it.

Death is not a story of how you live a while and then you don't anymore. That shit is for people in solitary confinement, which I hope to god you are someday. Death is, rather, the story of people who lose something more valuable than their own life: the connections that make life meaningful. Without the bonds between you and somebody (hopefully quite a few somebodies) that makes your thoughts worth expressing, life itself might as well be death as far as you are concerned.

Wait what? Are you agreeing with me or disagreeing with me? Because I agree with you.

And yet, though life is pain, it is clear that by selfishly trying to avoid this fate for myself, I am heaping more pain upon others. I would rather wander the lands of Nod than cause that sort of suffering among my own loved ones.

Are we not in agreement in our conclusions? 

[tyrannosaurus vex]

Death. Ah yes, death. Death is important. Death is fascinating. Death is terrifying. And yet would I welcome it?

I died once. I don't recall what it was like. All I remember is passing out and waking up in the hospital. Learned my lesson right quick about those pretty little bottles in the cupboard. Maybe I was too young, maybe I blocked the memories. They told me that they had to resuscitate me and pump my stomach. But I have no idea what happened between the time I went unconscious until the time that I was in the hospital bed. But they told me that I woke up in the ambulance. I seemed incredibly lucid and calm to them. Again, I remember none of that. So what happened?

This experience has done no less than give me a morbid fascination with death. Have I lost loved ones? You bet your boots I have. Did it hurt? Of course it did. Knowing that one must die, and being bereaved are different animals altogether. For my own part, I do not fear death. My own death is not a concern. Perhaps it has to do with a lack of self-esteem. Or a desire to find out what I have forgotten, or whether there was anything to forget. To this day, I have strong suicidal urges that are almost academic in their nature. But what always stops me from acting upon them is the thought of leaving behind mourners. Odd. I don't know why anyone would care about my death, as it is an inevitability. Life is pain, why suffer it? And yet, though life is pain, it is clear that by selfishly trying to avoid this fate for myself, I am heaping more pain upon others. I would rather wander the lands of Nod than cause that sort of suffering among my own loved ones.

Rambling, off topic, nonsensical. Hit the trifecta with this one...

There was a time, when I was about 16 or 17 and high on anything that could kill brain cells, that I would agree with this. Since that time, I have experienced death only a handful of times and usually in a tangential way. The one close family member I have known who did expire in an unfortunate bog of alcohol and pumpkin-orange skin, though, I think about every single day. All that shit they say about Jesus watching you so you better make sure you're doing the right thing? Even when I subscribed to it, it was never as powerful as the burning question in my mind about whether this drunken, flawed, self-destructive person I loved more than anything, would approve of my actions.

I agree with you that death is not a big deal, but only as it applies to myself, my own stream of consciousness. I expect by the end of my time (and quite possible before it happens) I will have long since tired of every recycled thought my meager brain can produce. But death isn't about you, you narcissistic fuck. It's about all the people you know, it's about the people you've touched and who have touched you. It's about the fact that our lives are built on the connections we form with one another, and the sense of shock and pain when those connections are severed forever, no matter how prepared you think you are for it.

Death is not a story of how you live a while and then you don't anymore. That shit is for people in solitary confinement, which I hope to god you are someday. Death is, rather, the story of people who lose something more valuable than their own life: the connections that make life meaningful. Without the bonds between you and somebody (hopefully quite a few somebodies) that makes your thoughts worth expressing, life itself might as well be death as far as you are concerned.

Wait what? Are you agreeing with me or disagreeing with me? Because I agree with you.

And yet, though life is pain, it is clear that by selfishly trying to avoid this fate for myself, I am heaping more pain upon others. I would rather wander the lands of Nod than cause that sort of suffering among my own loved ones.

Are we not in agreement in our conclusions? 

I didn't get enough coffee today. Something about your post looked like a good place to lose my cool. I think the "lands of Nod" thing went over my head, too.

[Phox]

Death. Ah yes, death. Death is important. Death is fascinating. Death is terrifying. And yet would I welcome it?

I died once. I don't recall what it was like. All I remember is passing out and waking up in the hospital. Learned my lesson right quick about those pretty little bottles in the cupboard. Maybe I was too young, maybe I blocked the memories. They told me that they had to resuscitate me and pump my stomach. But I have no idea what happened between the time I went unconscious until the time that I was in the hospital bed. But they told me that I woke up in the ambulance. I seemed incredibly lucid and calm to them. Again, I remember none of that. So what happened?

This experience has done no less than give me a morbid fascination with death. Have I lost loved ones? You bet your boots I have. Did it hurt? Of course it did. Knowing that one must die, and being bereaved are different animals altogether. For my own part, I do not fear death. My own death is not a concern. Perhaps it has to do with a lack of self-esteem. Or a desire to find out what I have forgotten, or whether there was anything to forget. To this day, I have strong suicidal urges that are almost academic in their nature. But what always stops me from acting upon them is the thought of leaving behind mourners. Odd. I don't know why anyone would care about my death, as it is an inevitability. Life is pain, why suffer it? And yet, though life is pain, it is clear that by selfishly trying to avoid this fate for myself, I am heaping more pain upon others. I would rather wander the lands of Nod than cause that sort of suffering among my own loved ones.

Rambling, off topic, nonsensical. Hit the trifecta with this one...

There was a time, when I was about 16 or 17 and high on anything that could kill brain cells, that I would agree with this. Since that time, I have experienced death only a handful of times and usually in a tangential way. The one close family member I have known who did expire in an unfortunate bog of alcohol and pumpkin-orange skin, though, I think about every single day. All that shit they say about Jesus watching you so you better make sure you're doing the right thing? Even when I subscribed to it, it was never as powerful as the burning question in my mind about whether this drunken, flawed, self-destructive person I loved more than anything, would approve of my actions.

I agree with you that death is not a big deal, but only as it applies to myself, my own stream of consciousness. I expect by the end of my time (and quite possible before it happens) I will have long since tired of every recycled thought my meager brain can produce. But death isn't about you, you narcissistic fuck. It's about all the people you know, it's about the people you've touched and who have touched you. It's about the fact that our lives are built on the connections we form with one another, and the sense of shock and pain when those connections are severed forever, no matter how prepared you think you are for it.

Death is not a story of how you live a while and then you don't anymore. That shit is for people in solitary confinement, which I hope to god you are someday. Death is, rather, the story of people who lose something more valuable than their own life: the connections that make life meaningful. Without the bonds between you and somebody (hopefully quite a few somebodies) that makes your thoughts worth expressing, life itself might as well be death as far as you are concerned.

Wait what? Are you agreeing with me or disagreeing with me? Because I agree with you.

And yet, though life is pain, it is clear that by selfishly trying to avoid this fate for myself, I am heaping more pain upon others. I would rather wander the lands of Nod than cause that sort of suffering among my own loved ones.

Are we not in agreement in our conclusions? 

I didn't get enough coffee today. Something about your post looked like a good place to lose my cool. I think the "lands of Nod" thing went over my head, too.

Ah, yeah. No worries. I meant I would rather suffer forever myself (by living forever), than intentionally inflict the pain of loss on those that care for me. We agree.