There is a duality between life and death that haunts the minds of all those who seek meaning in their existence, particularly the strange paradox that we do not fear being born and living, yet we are terrified of death. Several philosophers have established frameworks for reasoning about this cycle of life, mainly concluding that we fear the end because the unknown nature of this void frightens us, and it is our consciousness that leads us to imagine the worst instead of giving the benefit of the doubt to what we do not understand.
Yet there is no visceral sense of existence for a newborn infant who comes into the world for the first time, facing life with the same sense of bewilderment and complete wonder.
Everything we learn, everything we experience, is taught to us gradually during our early years, and it is in this state of childhood that innocence holds the purest form of inner peace, for living is not a requirement—it is second nature.
Yet in adulthood, life is no longer a predefined, unconditional experience; on the contrary, it is associated with demands and constraints imposed on us by the weight of evolution, progress, maintenance, and many other concepts that define the very limits within which we wake up every morning.
If we were to conduct a survey, there’s no doubt that many people would say they’ve “felt the weight of the world” ontheir shoulders more than once.
And that must be particularly overwhelming when you multiply that number by the billions of adults who are currently affected…
Nor do we end up dreading life itself, but rather fearing that we will reach the end of our privileges too quickly, since our time is limited, whether we realize it or not.
Modern culture encourages us to cherish the small pleasures of our daily lives as a reminder of the value of our lives; it would be unbearable to set an expiration date for ourselves before we even know what expiration means. No one really knows what death means, despite our most sophisticated theories. The mystery of why and how remains unsolved.
A. Schopenhauer said , “Life must in any case soon come to an end, and then the few years we may still have left to live will vanish, down to the very last one, in the face of the infinity of time in which we will no longer exist.” It therefore seems even ridiculous to reason to worry so much about this brief span of time, to tremble so fiercely at the slightest danger threatening our own lives or those of others, and to compose dramas whose pathos has as its sole source the fear of death.”
This ideology serves as a reminder that no matter how much anxiety we feel about ceasing to exist, it is all just a form of ebb and flow in a vast ocean that does not belong to us. And where the air rushes in, flows out, drifts, and vanishes, it always ends up returning. The same is true of this life, which seems so fragile in our hands, even if, in our eyes, it means only what we allow ourselves to see…
Perhaps there is a certain naivety in believing that each of our lives has its own meaning, thrust into the midst of a community to serve a purpose we are unable to comprehend. Yet, many, as they reach their final days, realize that the only things that matter in that moment are: the fragments of love they have received, the kind glances that rest upon them, allowing their minds to wander elsewhere, and the small triumphs and adventures that made their hearts beat faster.
All of this, in the depths of the pupils, in a matter of seconds, to offer one last spark before closing the shutters and ending the chapter where it all began.