Everyday, I watch the quiet rising of the sun, and arrive home just in time for it’s setting. I enjoy the cycle; the motion of light and darkness that reminds me that one day, I too, will be resting as the sun — cold, dead and remembered only for the light that used to be my soul.
John Updike’s once said: Each day, we wake slightly altered, and the person we were yesterday is dead.So why, one could say, be afraid of death, when death comes all the time?
I share his frame; in that death is as common as the breath we take, but I fear this negates the biggest problem of them all: the choices we make in the face of it.
We sleep eight hours a day, engage in the same deprecating thoughts, slave through tedious jobs to earn a living, only to pass at night for another eight hours; and dream of electric sheep. If we be so lucky as to inherit my grandfather’s genes, we would all live up to the age of sixty; that’s a fine twenty years spent unconscious, and entangled in formless mirages.
Do you not realise, friend, that over hundred thousand people pass every day? Do you not see death’s hands in the passing of time? In the hymns of history?
Remember your mortality; remember that nothing separates you from the bounty of death — and live wisely.
The price of anything, fortunate or not, lies in the amount of life given into it.