Thoughts on my own mortality.

Death isn’t a subject people like to talk about. It isn’t something we fully understand, and it’s fucking scary. So we tend to just push it to the back of our minds and get on with living.

I struggle to do this.

For a long time it has been one of those things that plays on my mind once I get I get into bed, where there is nothing to distract me from my own thoughts.

The thought of an afterlife has never made any kind of logical sense to me, and the idea of a benevolent god that judges us on our behaviour, and actively intervenes, doesn’t seem likely to me either. To me, organised religion is one of the biggest tradgedies in human history. The atrocities committed in the name of God have made the world a horrible and scary place to live.

So I am unable to put my faith in something like that.

I do sometimes consider the idea of a God that is more impartial. Neither good nor bad. A God that creates for the sake of creating, and doesn’t judge or  involve itself the affairs of humans, because it has the entire universe to worry about.

Maybe we are just individual manifestations of a universal consciousness. Created as a way for it to experience itself. And the illusion of the “self” and being seperate from eachother is created simply because our brains aren’t physically connected, so our individual experiences are separated. So we own those experiences, and call them “mine” and “yours”

Or maybe there is something more, that we as humans are unable to comprehend at this point in time. Like a monkey trying to understand philosophy. Maybe our brains just aren’t ready for God yet.

Either way, without proof, it takes a big fucking leap of faith either way. That’s not something I’m keen on doing.

So that really only leaves one option for me.

Death must be the full stop on my life. It must be the end.

This has been a source of anxiety for me for a while. Eternal nothingness, Non-existence, holy fuck is it scary.

Regularly witnessing disease and death at work only served to increase my anxiety.

But the other night I was sitting out the back smoking one of my cancer sticks. Thinking about how my habits will fucking kill me one day.

When something clicked.

Why am I afraid of not existing.

That doesn’t make any sense.

The only reason I am afraid of death. Is because I am trying to comprehend the incomprehensible. The experience of death doesn’t exist. Because there is no conciousnes there to experience it. The idea of an infinite nothingness doesn’t exist, because time cannot exist without conciousnes.

We try and understand death by thinkin of it as an experience, because all we know is experience. But that is impossible. We can’t compare the two things. Death is something that no human will ever experience. It only exists because we are able to think about it.

In the same way the infinite amount of time that passed before I was born doesn’t concern me, neither should the time that passes once I’m gone.

I don’t need to be afraid, because there is nothing to be afraid of.

It’s just the end of the book. The end of my story. That’s all it is.

I don’t want to be without the people I care about forever. I don’t want to never experience them again. This is where the true tragedy in death exists. It seems that death is only sad for those who are left behind. It is only scary for those who are left to see it.

So I guess All that is left to do now, is ensure that I enjoy the time I am allocated. But there is no need for urgency. There is nothing I absolutely must do. Because without any kind of meaning behind all of this, being content and experiencing life is all that matters. There will be no regrets once I’m done.

Besides, imagine how fucking bored you would get if you lived for eternity. You would experience everything humanly possible in max 1000000 years, then what. What the fuck would you do?

“Hey mate, what ya been up to?”

“Eh, same shit I’ve been doing for the last billion years… you?”


One thought on “Thoughts on my own mortality.

  1. I really like this post. Especially the part about being left behind. I’ve thought a lot about that, and how maybe funerals aren’t for the dead, but just for those who are still living. Your dialogue at the end is funny. Reminds me of a quote I saw on a skateboard: “Same shit, different day.”

    Liked by 1 person

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