You are not Abandoned

Posted: August 23, 2012 in blue

Fear not, my seldom opened virtual notebook, I shant leave you forgotten on some empty faux velour bluish gray bus seat of cyberspace. What is it about that thing, publishing? I write a good deal more for no one than for everyone. Isn’t that the idea, though? You write everything you’re afraid for others to see somewhere hidden, and imagine after you die you will somehow increase in importance and then the world can finally be exposed to your untested brilliance?

Some failures of logic in there, for sure, but I’m also quite positive I’m not alone in my silent quest for posthumous glory.

It comes down to fear, then, and what is any fear other than some modification/transformation/manipulation of the fear of death? It’s my current quest to get over my fear of death, because I had a quite stoned revelation that my fear of death controls every decision I make. A silent grip around my chest squeezing the air out so my brain can’t think for itself.

The ego, the transcendental “I,” the ever-beating demand for validation. Because the ego is born from the knowledge that YOU ARE GOING TO DIE AND YOU DON’T KNOW WHEN OR HOW. A life is thrust upon your confused spirit, and your coming to adulthood is the desperation to define your life before it’s gone.

Do animals know they are going to die? They certainly have (gangster) egos:

They don’t seem too concerned about death, though. My last cat, Tango, died suddenly, but he came to me the night before and was noticeably more affectionate–almost aggressive in trying to pry my attention away from the computer in favor of intense cuddles. Maybe once you’re not afraid of it you can feel it approach, like the need to pee, and greet it as you would any natural part of life.

What I meant to get at, which may or may not have been accomplished, is that, in this day and age, if you’re going to write, you might as well write like you’re not afraid of death (since it’s coming anyway), and therefore the distinction between putting your thoughts on a privately owned piece of paper or out in the world for all to see should be a matter not between me and my ego but between me and whatever I hold sacred. Sacred things are private, and sanctity is one of the few things us humans can’t communicate effectively to each other (hence the clapping in church–if we all pretend we feel it, and it sounds like we all feel it, well, then, we all feel it!).

In short, my neat little piece of silicon property, You are not Abandoned.

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Comments
  1. Mike Hibbard says:

    and the pace quickens every day until

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