I admit, sometimes I’m terrified of death. For spiritual reasons or purely dictated by the spirit of conservation, I too not know for sure. All I know for sure is that I think more and more often about a topic so inappropriate for the youth; sometimes with peace, admiration, resignation and even with a bit of curiosity (without any suicidal intention, though!), some other times horrified, helpless, sad and outraged. I wonder sometimes if those who chose to end their existence demonstrate courage or cowardice. Two terms so antithetic, put on the same scale. How strong should the reason and consciousness of a person be, both developed over decades of life, to defeat an instinct billion of years old, that even the smallest bugs have! How intense the decision and self-determination to defeat what the whole being orders. How much power to really step into the unknown! Or simply stupidity? Cowardice, perhaps?
I sometimes wonder how I will die. I’m so curious, this question scrapes me so hard: how will I end up? Old, maybe? Sick? Foolishly? Will I realize that “that’s it, this is my last moment!”, or will it take me by surprise, without being able to think anything? Will it be short or long, and perhaps painful?
What will I really find “beyond”? That is, if there is a “beyond”. It would be sad not to exist. In a universe of about 13 billion years old it would be sad to live just 50-100 years, and nothing more. Finita la comedia. You’ve never been before, nor will you ever be after. In Eternity, you lived a century. Enough. Sad.
If there is anything else, how does this “anything else” look like? It’s full of regrets for the wrong deeds committed here, in less than a century? Do we pay eternally for the madness of a moment? Is this “anything else” a new rebirth, a new hundred of years, granted in another package?
I love and I’m horrified of death. At the same time. I love it because it’s the only certain thing. I love it for it is mysterious. It is dear to me because we all have it in common, of any kind we are. It shocks me because I never knew it, no matter how much I approached it, willingly or unwillingly. It saddens me because it is indifferent to any sorrow, regret, tear. It scares me because it does not announce.
I sometimes think: if I die tomorrow, would I be reconciled? What would really matter of all the things that I’ve done so far? What would I regret that I haven’t finished? Would I feel richer with a lived life, or would I have the impression or useless spent years? Would it be a dead end or a new path?