A lot of what I know or have learnt through the years from my people, peers, others etc states that death is dark and that it invokes despair and grief.
Experience, I mean the numerous encounters I had with death and of other people dying around me states that it is just a movement from one state of matter to another. This I reckon, is the normal. Almost every being on the planet earth including the inanimate goes through this process. There is nothing untoward about it. The reason for the grief and despair, is also something that every being goes through. The one that moved on, well, that is the end of that story. But the one that stay back, the one that has been affected does gain an impact, immeasurable, to quite an extent. This effect on the one that continuous to thrive is again of the limited kinds. 'Coz perseverance is the hallmark of all beings, animate as well as inanimate. The human may cry and showcase his grief, then gather the pieces and bounce back as the monotonous Sun shall rise everyday and ask them to continue, the plant may look dry and dark and then the monotonous seasons shall keep swaying to and forth and slowly bring forth the green and elegance; and the rock may look parched and ominous after an event of disaster but the incessant wind and rain shall carry the dreary sludge and the magnificence shall slam back normalcy.
The extinct ones, what about them, hollers the mind: well, that one is difficult. The inability to coarse oneself to defend against onslaught of any kinds and the incapacity to continue ahead in the journey of creation may seem sentimental and draconian. But the helplessness may also state the obvious, the complete end may give rise to some other element or being that is far more useful and ingenious towards the future needs of what the earth shall constitute.
Death is but a brilliant method in the madness of existence. The existential dark space where definition stops and it is pure imagination that throws a brilliant rainbow of ideas about what is next. It also allows the living to express themselves; the crutch being suddenly taken away. The ability to express and get things done, raise itself in such a manner that mostly surprises the individual themselves. The dependency on others is the story of human existence. It is a beautiful thing and it allows the person to gather resources and fight off forces that may be difficult to deal with alone. And the wondrous values of companionship and story sharing has nothing comparable. The vice or iniquity is the dependency that sets in for both the parties. It may be shared dependency but it is dependent on compatibility, conjecture as well as skills of deed. The inability to spread capabilities beyond a certain measure in varied aspects become an inappropriate inadequacy. Death helps to expand the horizons. The stillness of the future, chills the veins momentarily but the same chill is then utilized to create the wings to fly further and see unexplored terrains.
Loneliness may have its naysayers and critics, but most of what they say is overblown. The silence that accompanies desolation has also got a bad rap. Most of all these is personal opinions, true. Even this is. But many of the opinions are taken up and ardently followed by certain less fortunate souls who spend most times with other people never having a moment of rumination. They shall continue to see the dreaded visualization of loneliness and silence and spread the word. The population is major concern. I have forgotten the sounds that nature makes. The slow steady rhythm of the wind, the varied tunes that birds-I-dunno-names-of create, the cricket's crackle in the night, the feeling and auditory vibrations of a snake slithering some place close, the sudden defenses that come to rejuvenate our senses, the decrepitate snap of some morning bird just callously flying by, all that is gone. I dunno where they are now but I need to get back with them. I need to be one with them.
When death shall come by to take me by my hand so that we could cross the fires of hell in tandem I need to have these sounds and feelings lurching in my soul instead of the incessant complaints of human existence, the constant brouhaha of being cheerful when cheer itself need not be shown to no one, the immutable drive to show a face that seems to be cut in a smile while the camouflage slides out of the jaw drooping and forlorn; the perpetual state of exposure and the need to showcase the deeds, if any, and get a feedback which in turn creates much more humbug and pain. How beautiful it would be just to walk in the middle of the night with moon cannoodling around with the trees and me, the street lights partly lit not covering anything beyond a certain diameter? How beautiful it is to use your backpack as your support and sit by the river side, just listening to gurgling of the flowing sand and water, the breeze bringing the smell of roasted coconut and the slight strain of the fish being fried? I just want to keep walking among these beings, animate and inanimate, away from the maddening crowd and their everyday spoils, hooks, acts and pains and be one with the nature around. The green grass on the underneath of my feet, the slight dew encompassing all that I am, my skin tuned to the surreal, the mind a rush of blood that is real.
The sound of silence hangs on me and I love the slow moving out of the despair and disdain. The incessant tide of what is not good and what is not bad has slid away, in its place stands a reasonably simple vivacity of opportunity that beckons me away from the insolence and ego that sets everything around me to be heavy. I want to get away from this heaviness, it is overbearing, the burden is way too much, I can feel it in my muscles, memories turn itself into monuments of dust underneath the strain.
I want to feel light; I want to leave tomorrow, its but a days journey away from teeming masses, from the convoluted thinkers, from the spurious jocundity and joviality. I just want to find myself a little place, a few trees, a brook and a few chirping birds, do throw in a dog, they are never phony....
Experience, I mean the numerous encounters I had with death and of other people dying around me states that it is just a movement from one state of matter to another. This I reckon, is the normal. Almost every being on the planet earth including the inanimate goes through this process. There is nothing untoward about it. The reason for the grief and despair, is also something that every being goes through. The one that moved on, well, that is the end of that story. But the one that stay back, the one that has been affected does gain an impact, immeasurable, to quite an extent. This effect on the one that continuous to thrive is again of the limited kinds. 'Coz perseverance is the hallmark of all beings, animate as well as inanimate. The human may cry and showcase his grief, then gather the pieces and bounce back as the monotonous Sun shall rise everyday and ask them to continue, the plant may look dry and dark and then the monotonous seasons shall keep swaying to and forth and slowly bring forth the green and elegance; and the rock may look parched and ominous after an event of disaster but the incessant wind and rain shall carry the dreary sludge and the magnificence shall slam back normalcy.
The extinct ones, what about them, hollers the mind: well, that one is difficult. The inability to coarse oneself to defend against onslaught of any kinds and the incapacity to continue ahead in the journey of creation may seem sentimental and draconian. But the helplessness may also state the obvious, the complete end may give rise to some other element or being that is far more useful and ingenious towards the future needs of what the earth shall constitute.
Death is but a brilliant method in the madness of existence. The existential dark space where definition stops and it is pure imagination that throws a brilliant rainbow of ideas about what is next. It also allows the living to express themselves; the crutch being suddenly taken away. The ability to express and get things done, raise itself in such a manner that mostly surprises the individual themselves. The dependency on others is the story of human existence. It is a beautiful thing and it allows the person to gather resources and fight off forces that may be difficult to deal with alone. And the wondrous values of companionship and story sharing has nothing comparable. The vice or iniquity is the dependency that sets in for both the parties. It may be shared dependency but it is dependent on compatibility, conjecture as well as skills of deed. The inability to spread capabilities beyond a certain measure in varied aspects become an inappropriate inadequacy. Death helps to expand the horizons. The stillness of the future, chills the veins momentarily but the same chill is then utilized to create the wings to fly further and see unexplored terrains.
Loneliness may have its naysayers and critics, but most of what they say is overblown. The silence that accompanies desolation has also got a bad rap. Most of all these is personal opinions, true. Even this is. But many of the opinions are taken up and ardently followed by certain less fortunate souls who spend most times with other people never having a moment of rumination. They shall continue to see the dreaded visualization of loneliness and silence and spread the word. The population is major concern. I have forgotten the sounds that nature makes. The slow steady rhythm of the wind, the varied tunes that birds-I-dunno-names-of create, the cricket's crackle in the night, the feeling and auditory vibrations of a snake slithering some place close, the sudden defenses that come to rejuvenate our senses, the decrepitate snap of some morning bird just callously flying by, all that is gone. I dunno where they are now but I need to get back with them. I need to be one with them.
When death shall come by to take me by my hand so that we could cross the fires of hell in tandem I need to have these sounds and feelings lurching in my soul instead of the incessant complaints of human existence, the constant brouhaha of being cheerful when cheer itself need not be shown to no one, the immutable drive to show a face that seems to be cut in a smile while the camouflage slides out of the jaw drooping and forlorn; the perpetual state of exposure and the need to showcase the deeds, if any, and get a feedback which in turn creates much more humbug and pain. How beautiful it would be just to walk in the middle of the night with moon cannoodling around with the trees and me, the street lights partly lit not covering anything beyond a certain diameter? How beautiful it is to use your backpack as your support and sit by the river side, just listening to gurgling of the flowing sand and water, the breeze bringing the smell of roasted coconut and the slight strain of the fish being fried? I just want to keep walking among these beings, animate and inanimate, away from the maddening crowd and their everyday spoils, hooks, acts and pains and be one with the nature around. The green grass on the underneath of my feet, the slight dew encompassing all that I am, my skin tuned to the surreal, the mind a rush of blood that is real.
The sound of silence hangs on me and I love the slow moving out of the despair and disdain. The incessant tide of what is not good and what is not bad has slid away, in its place stands a reasonably simple vivacity of opportunity that beckons me away from the insolence and ego that sets everything around me to be heavy. I want to get away from this heaviness, it is overbearing, the burden is way too much, I can feel it in my muscles, memories turn itself into monuments of dust underneath the strain.
I want to feel light; I want to leave tomorrow, its but a days journey away from teeming masses, from the convoluted thinkers, from the spurious jocundity and joviality. I just want to find myself a little place, a few trees, a brook and a few chirping birds, do throw in a dog, they are never phony....
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