I received the sad news today that the father of a friend of mine from elementary school passed away in the past few days in a sad accident in the state where we both grew up. To wake up to the news that someone you have known is gone, especially as this is the second death of a person I’ve known, in about ten days, that I’ve heard news about, well, enough commas, it’s not an easy thing to wake up to.
It’s a silly thing, the struggle we all have with mortality. I mean, for some reason we’re under the assumption that we can fight it, like worrying and trying to avoid it and be as healthy as we can will prevent that inevitable full stop. It’s a given, yet we spend our entire lives in a state of self-induced delusion that maybe it isn’t coming. The thing we most waste our energy on, both mentally and physically, is the one thing we have absolutely no control over.
Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting, my friend. — The Beatles
I lay in bed, understandably melancholic, thinking about the sheer quantity of death and birth that occurs on the planet every day. With over seven billion humans, it’s a constant state—the revolving door of people entering and exiting conscious life on this planet, nevermind all of the other species in the world. It’s a bit mind-boggling really, how many we all are.
And the number one common denominator is death.
It’s fucking terrifying—why? Where does that fear come from? Is it evolutionary? Is it social? Part of me thinks the latter, as we learn countless examples of past civilizations and societies for whom death was a simple part of life. It is pretty simple, really. Just got all these thoughts getting in the way of peace-of-mind about it.