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Sharing the Hate, Spreading the Pain: On After Death

by on Apr.10, 2008, under Articles, Sharing the Hate

The voices do not stop, and yet I do not know where they come from. That is about as great a lie as believing the shattered remains of my own reflection. That is a about as great a lie as feeling the phantom touch on the shoulder that never existed to begin with. I find no comfort in these lies, nor do I generally find comfort in any lie. The mirthful tongue has already caused enough damage as of lately.

I know exactly where the voices come from, the only place they ever came from. If I could only shut off the inner monologue, I might find peace and tranquillity. Not in this lifetime, the voices tell me. Not in the next either, I reply back to them. I resist the urge to pick up a piece of the shattered mirror and drive it into my hand clenching it with rage to bring my inner self some pain. I fear that I might grasp the mirror too tightly, and exsanguinate myself dangerously further than I already have. The pain might be good though, since it would remind me that I am still alive. To be alive is to suffer, and to suffer is a natural order to living.

I have always been fascinated with religion and its purpose of helping individuals cope with the afterlife. That is one of the main purposes of religion, to answer the question of why we are here and where we are going. The where we are going often deals with the answer to what is the afterlife. Most religions fail on the why we are here bit with the exception of to serve, and to prepare for the afterlife. Perhaps the numbness of walking around with false hope would help me sleep at night? I did not know I had trouble sleeping until the air mattress broke. How long ago was that? How long ago was the last time I spoke to someone? I can’t remember either. Time is irrelevant still, because there is no demarcation of existence needed.

The human mind has to perceive events in terms of a beginning and an end. There is an Alpha, and an Omega. There is a dawn of time, and an end of days. Every start has a finish. Even Aristotle wrote in Poetics about the circular nature of the story, in which the end must correlate directly to the beginning. If I were to take that logic then for this story to end, I would have to wake up. Wake up to what I start to say a loud rather than internally. Perhaps I am still just asleep as most individuals are as they lead their trite existences. If I awaken from my sleep, what would I awaken to? Regardless of metaphor, and simile, I simply woke up angry. That is what started this tale, and yet some 12 weeks later, I am still living the nightmare. Time is already skewed, how long ago was 12 weeks?

A main fallacy in the human logic is that while there is a perceived start and an end to everything, even the universe, they fail to see the end in their own existence. Clearly their existence began, and so it should end. However, they feel that it should start and never end, which is why there is an afterlife to greet one upon death. Logic would dictate otherwise, but since when are emotional creature such as humans logical in the face of emotion?

How do things start and yet not end? How were things always, and had no start? These are concepts that one can go insane simply pondering, let alone dedicating actual energy to figure out. It is best to leave certain questions unanswered, because some questions simply do not have an answer. There are those that have fun in trying to debate and discuss the unanswerable. I prefer to accept the fact that certain questions have no answers and move onto ones that do. After all, I have better things to spend my time on even if I do not have a grasp on the speed in which time moves.


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