Perspective On Death
Mar. 29th, 2006 03:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tabular_rasa"Oh, I'm so happy! We're all going to die!"
Everyone always go on about how we should live like we were dying (and, no, not just Tim McGraw). You know-- forgive everyone quickly, enjoy the simple things, give more, don't worry, just enjoy. What happens when you do, but then you don't die? I don't think it's very practical, actually.
There are a lot of things I would say and do if I knew I was actually dying. They'd be stupid to say now. Mostly, death allows us to be super-cheesy without being super-cheesy. Death allows us to be purely unselfish, because we have no physicality left to require selfishness of. The only selfishness we can display is the last attentions to our dying moments, which we deserve-- and everyone grants-- because there is some sort of sacredness inherent in death that everyone is aware. It is the last time you will hear this person's voice, feel their living touch, sense their presence, experience their soul. It's something simply, purely, inherently understood.
When you die, you basically release your soul out of your body. Whether you believe in Dualism or not, you do have the option to release an awful lot before you die: confessions, admissions, love . . . To do that and then live would be to empty your soul and then have to have it crammed back into you, all those confessions meant "never to be" would now confront you, from love to unsolved murders. You wouldn't really be you, anymore, you know . . . ?
Sometimes I think it would be nice to know in advance I was going to die. That way, I could write out a perfect schedule and make it a fantasically beautiful event as I went down. After all, I am very fond of tragedy; I like the slow spiral that ties up so neatly at the end. Instead of troubling myself with preparing for a future that may or may not happen, I could just do what I always wanted to do. I could write my book-- or a few books-- to write out everything I've wanted to get out into the world, and never worry ever after whether it made it or not (and get like Make A Wish Foundation to publish it, or something, lol . . . ). I'd tell everybody I loved them, and then just slip slowly and gracefully away.
Yet dying without knowing it can be beautiful, too. The immediate becomes the everything; it's very romantic. There's just the worry about the immediate being the wrong immediate.
"Oh, don't go!" she said. "It won't be long."
I think basically why it's so interesting is because there's no hope. There comes a point when you know you are dying, when you've past the point of no return, and you always know it. To return past this point would be an insult to you (ahh, how so many comedic movies have turned that into a farce, because the death was at the wrong moment and so irreverant!). You don't want to come back after that, and you have to depend upon it to say what you need to say at that time. People go on and on about how wonderful hope is, how it keeps people going and alive-- but, at death, you're not alive anyway, and it's perhaps the most important moment of your existence. It defines you; you stop being "are," and become "was."
It's such a sunny day outside; it's really a wonder why I'm thinking upon such melancholy things. I mean, it's Prank Week, stuff is going great, I did better than I thought upon a couple of papers and I'm on schedule for the rest of my stuff. I don't want to go to Orchestra tonight, but what else is new? That's not enough to get me "depressed."
. . . though I don't know that it's really "depressed," after all. Death doesn't have to be depressing; it can be nice and easy.
After all, besides, I don't know that I've ever had a "positive attitude." Some people have mistaken me for having one. Since when do I ever think of things as ever all light and fluffy? Maybe I've been happy, sure, but I don't believe the entire world is happy. I'm not that stupid, honestly. At the same time, I find happiness conductive to selfishness; I find myself better suited to helping others when I'm upset (does hopelessless-- and not death-- lead to unselfishness? Perhaps I misinterpreted . . . ). I've got that "pessimistic optimism" thing going on, the "might as well believe the worst because then you won't be disappointed-- or you'll be happily surprised!" It's the Pascal's Wager (ack, darn, I actually have to read that thing for real for Problems in Philosophy tomorrow, lol :-P) of optimistic/pessimistic theories. Most people equate optimism with forward-looking; I'm more detached, looking at the entire picture from above, the whole thing, outside of it and with no particular direction involved with it (like those dimensions which I discussed, outside this bare-minimum unidirectional plane which we live in, called Chronological Time, only the first of three possible dimensions of time-- erm, nevermind . . . ). So, I suppose, then, that gives me perspective. I haven't got optimism, I've got perspective.
Maybe the absence of optimism is why death doesn't bother me so much.
Do you think it's possible people can fall from Enlightenment? I think I answered my own question.
Adversity makes men; prosperity makes monsters.
I'll take that again later when I feel happier.
Everyone always go on about how we should live like we were dying (and, no, not just Tim McGraw). You know-- forgive everyone quickly, enjoy the simple things, give more, don't worry, just enjoy. What happens when you do, but then you don't die? I don't think it's very practical, actually.
There are a lot of things I would say and do if I knew I was actually dying. They'd be stupid to say now. Mostly, death allows us to be super-cheesy without being super-cheesy. Death allows us to be purely unselfish, because we have no physicality left to require selfishness of. The only selfishness we can display is the last attentions to our dying moments, which we deserve-- and everyone grants-- because there is some sort of sacredness inherent in death that everyone is aware. It is the last time you will hear this person's voice, feel their living touch, sense their presence, experience their soul. It's something simply, purely, inherently understood.
When you die, you basically release your soul out of your body. Whether you believe in Dualism or not, you do have the option to release an awful lot before you die: confessions, admissions, love . . . To do that and then live would be to empty your soul and then have to have it crammed back into you, all those confessions meant "never to be" would now confront you, from love to unsolved murders. You wouldn't really be you, anymore, you know . . . ?
Sometimes I think it would be nice to know in advance I was going to die. That way, I could write out a perfect schedule and make it a fantasically beautiful event as I went down. After all, I am very fond of tragedy; I like the slow spiral that ties up so neatly at the end. Instead of troubling myself with preparing for a future that may or may not happen, I could just do what I always wanted to do. I could write my book-- or a few books-- to write out everything I've wanted to get out into the world, and never worry ever after whether it made it or not (and get like Make A Wish Foundation to publish it, or something, lol . . . ). I'd tell everybody I loved them, and then just slip slowly and gracefully away.
Yet dying without knowing it can be beautiful, too. The immediate becomes the everything; it's very romantic. There's just the worry about the immediate being the wrong immediate.
"Oh, don't go!" she said. "It won't be long."
I think basically why it's so interesting is because there's no hope. There comes a point when you know you are dying, when you've past the point of no return, and you always know it. To return past this point would be an insult to you (ahh, how so many comedic movies have turned that into a farce, because the death was at the wrong moment and so irreverant!). You don't want to come back after that, and you have to depend upon it to say what you need to say at that time. People go on and on about how wonderful hope is, how it keeps people going and alive-- but, at death, you're not alive anyway, and it's perhaps the most important moment of your existence. It defines you; you stop being "are," and become "was."
It's such a sunny day outside; it's really a wonder why I'm thinking upon such melancholy things. I mean, it's Prank Week, stuff is going great, I did better than I thought upon a couple of papers and I'm on schedule for the rest of my stuff. I don't want to go to Orchestra tonight, but what else is new? That's not enough to get me "depressed."
. . . though I don't know that it's really "depressed," after all. Death doesn't have to be depressing; it can be nice and easy.
After all, besides, I don't know that I've ever had a "positive attitude." Some people have mistaken me for having one. Since when do I ever think of things as ever all light and fluffy? Maybe I've been happy, sure, but I don't believe the entire world is happy. I'm not that stupid, honestly. At the same time, I find happiness conductive to selfishness; I find myself better suited to helping others when I'm upset (does hopelessless-- and not death-- lead to unselfishness? Perhaps I misinterpreted . . . ). I've got that "pessimistic optimism" thing going on, the "might as well believe the worst because then you won't be disappointed-- or you'll be happily surprised!" It's the Pascal's Wager (ack, darn, I actually have to read that thing for real for Problems in Philosophy tomorrow, lol :-P) of optimistic/pessimistic theories. Most people equate optimism with forward-looking; I'm more detached, looking at the entire picture from above, the whole thing, outside of it and with no particular direction involved with it (like those dimensions which I discussed, outside this bare-minimum unidirectional plane which we live in, called Chronological Time, only the first of three possible dimensions of time-- erm, nevermind . . . ). So, I suppose, then, that gives me perspective. I haven't got optimism, I've got perspective.
Maybe the absence of optimism is why death doesn't bother me so much.
Do you think it's possible people can fall from Enlightenment? I think I answered my own question.
Adversity makes men; prosperity makes monsters.
| You Are 56% Happy |
 You're definitely a happy person, even though you have your down moments. You tend to get the most out of life, though there's always some more happiness to be squeezed. |
I'll take that again later when I feel happier.
| You Are Teal Green |
 You are a one of a kind, original person. There's no one even close to being like you. Expressive and creative, you have a knack for making the impossible possible. While you are a bit offbeat, you don't scare people away with your quirks. Your warm personality nicely counteracts and strange habits you may have. |
| You Are a Natural Flirt |
 Believe it or not, you're a really effective flirt. And you're so good, you hardly notice that you're flirting. Your attitude and confidence make you a natural flirt. And the fact that you don't know it is just that more attractive! |
| Your Heart Is Pink |
 In relationships, you like to play innocent - even though you aren't. Each time you fall in love, it's like falling for the first time. Your flirting style: Coy Your lucky first date: Picnic in the park Your dream lover: Is both caring and dominant What you bring to relationships: Romance |
