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QaR
September 2008 
Return
Posted on Sep 11th, 2008
by 
Saw
Saw
It has been long since I last said anything, perhaps I no longer find value, or perhaps it is just me that i can't seem to stay in one place. But still, and as usual one year is enough to teach and to understand.
In many of these point I am barely rediscovering the past teachings, and learning by myself previous lessons given by many thinkers, after all none is an island. Yet there is much to learn and much to understand.
Today, I found myself vagueing on my mind, in search for a cemetery. Not on a negative confrontation of death, but in both a a road to discovery and place of rationality.
What is to be truly dead? what does if feel like? and more importantly, how can I be sure of being alive?
Some might be answered by the rationality of science, in which perhaps there is no afterlife, and only blackness into death. Like a deep eternal sleep, in which ignorance of life is a fundamental bliss. I imagine this as very subtle, like if you forget everything, and there is nothing. An absloute peace for which no one can disturb. It is not necesarily bad, and infact there would be no need to argue, without feelings, nor notion of self, there can be an after image of rest.
Of course this is an absolute point of debate; as there is controversy among each of this parts, life after death, and so on and so forth, and yet I don't know what it is true, but I Think life after death, can be as helpful or dangerous. Yet, in life or no-life after death, I think that they might be as reasonable, or as beautiful to either one, and not contradictory or evil.
As for me I tend to lean for a life after all death.
From these previous questions, a whole bunch of question arise; but I tend to separate just a few of the rest that come to mind. Most of the questions arise while looking at the epitaphs of the graves. In a way, I can vaguely recognize the similarity to my own existence, and yet my mind begins to imagine, into a life of a complete stranger. I Find it disrespectful, to be so ignorant to the real story behind each grave, it would be even worse to pry on only curious interest on family matters. Perhaps it is just fear, to know the absolute truth of a grim reality, or intrusive in the happiness of someone I don't know. Yet my mind wanders of each one, each story, and each life that accompanies the grave. At the distance I see a crowd of people at the distance, and as a sign of respect, I walk farther from them.
As I walk one grave attracts my attention, is of relative medium size, and from which I read the name, "War hero, Loving husband and father, He would be forever remembered," or something of the sorts, of which I can't accurately remember. yet I remember the date of birth and year of death. With that said, My mind begins to imagine a certain story, fictitious, and probably based on stereotypes, yet I try to keep from the offenses to the owner of the grave. The first image that comes in mind, is the joy of his parents during his birth. By the look of this tiny live, the world surrounding it is painted by a sea of smiles, and of many tender feelings. As if there was a need to protect and to care for this tiny being.
Slowly this child grows, and it seems to be sorounded by cake and ballons as his birth day approaches. He is in the middle of friends and family; all laughing at the world, as it seems that it doesn't matter at the moment, but just a warm embrace of people. The days just passes by as he plays with his new bycycle on a sunny day of summer, and in he is thinking of jumping the self made ramp made out of bricks and wood. Suddenly I think about fall, then winter, spring, and finally summer again. In just a blink of the eyes, the one year goes on again, and another, then another. Until I catch a glimpse of a youth who excels at sports, he might be a little lazzy at school but he has always done what he is supposed to do... well most of the time...
Then at school, he meets a girl, with lovely hair, and a cheerful smile. He keeps looking at her and instantly falls in love with her. Slowly he approaches to her, it was the most beautyful part of his life, just meeting her. Then they both fall for each other, and the rest of their romance is like an impossible dream, perfect despite the imperfections.
This Youth has a dream to serve to his country, and with a naive idea of pariotism, he follows earnestly the path of a soldier. He speaks to his fiance about his idea, and path. She shows disbelief and fear; a perfecctively understadable feeling based on the cirmcunstances. But hesistantently she accepts the path he chooses.
He is enlisted after he graduated from school, and he is transfered right ino conflict. It wasn't that bad at the beggining, just a couple of people screaning in your ear, commanidng respect and obedience. It was in preparation of what is to come, a way of dicipline. Life is not as kind as it might be thought, and this was just in preparation to the horrors of war. In the minddle of the conflict, he reggrets the choices he made. He misses her soon to be wife, and keeps counting explosions, bullets and days, for him to return home.
With this though I begging to think of how many of his friends might be burried alongside of him. Saddly there is no way to tell, but I can imagine that through the dates some will share experiences, situations, and memories. Pehaps that garve on the corner, might be one of his buddies of war, from which perished at the hands of the same conflict, then I have to stop, since reality is a bit to grim as to gointo detail. And from which nothing good will come. Sometimes war is like this, a promise of ideology from which it takes more lives than the ones they give back. Yet this is relative to everyone, and there most be more to ech story than that which I can imagine.
He survived the worst, and now is time to get back home, to come to his future family. With open arms, his wife, accepts him back. Tears on both of their eyes, and a hope and happiness that cannot be taken away, ever again.
The years happen so suddenly again, and a story repeats in itself as he grows old. Looking as his grows in a simmilar manner to his, brings him the outermot joy, and the proud feeling of fatherly love. Soon his son chooses to go to college instead of joining the armed forces. He is accepting of this, and send him of with a blessing.
Soon his time is comming, he is sick now, and feels death knocking at the door. Yet he had so many good memories, and so many regrets, but nothing can be done. He is happy to have lived through all of it, the good the bad, and the rest of life. It is impossible to take it all away, since life is contantly moving. He then wonders, was it all worthy? he looks at his acomplishments, not legendary, but as important to his individual existance. He answers "yes it was all worthy," he looks at his wife one last time before passing away. The rest is written on the epithaph.
Is things like this that makes me feel alive, the looking of a life from which i won't be rembered but from which I enjoyed. There is no way to take the imprefections away, there is no way to change life as it is. Yet, there is a black part of life aswell, from which this look like fairy tales, in comparison to the brutal reality. And yet, choices we take makes us who we are, and by little, we could change all of it for our benefit.
Life is a natural part of death, or was it the other way around?, in any case, wouldn't you think of everything you have lived so far, and find atlest some of it beautyful? wouldn't you want to re-live everything that you enjoyed? Would you find worth in a vanal life? I find mine despite the obstacles, the most wonderful thing of all, and I choose to say yes.
What do you say? do you find your as astonishing?
In many of these point I am barely rediscovering the past teachings, and learning by myself previous lessons given by many thinkers, after all none is an island. Yet there is much to learn and much to understand.
Today, I found myself vagueing on my mind, in search for a cemetery. Not on a negative confrontation of death, but in both a a road to discovery and place of rationality.
What is to be truly dead? what does if feel like? and more importantly, how can I be sure of being alive?
Some might be answered by the rationality of science, in which perhaps there is no afterlife, and only blackness into death. Like a deep eternal sleep, in which ignorance of life is a fundamental bliss. I imagine this as very subtle, like if you forget everything, and there is nothing. An absloute peace for which no one can disturb. It is not necesarily bad, and infact there would be no need to argue, without feelings, nor notion of self, there can be an after image of rest.
Of course this is an absolute point of debate; as there is controversy among each of this parts, life after death, and so on and so forth, and yet I don't know what it is true, but I Think life after death, can be as helpful or dangerous. Yet, in life or no-life after death, I think that they might be as reasonable, or as beautiful to either one, and not contradictory or evil.
As for me I tend to lean for a life after all death.
From these previous questions, a whole bunch of question arise; but I tend to separate just a few of the rest that come to mind. Most of the questions arise while looking at the epitaphs of the graves. In a way, I can vaguely recognize the similarity to my own existence, and yet my mind begins to imagine, into a life of a complete stranger. I Find it disrespectful, to be so ignorant to the real story behind each grave, it would be even worse to pry on only curious interest on family matters. Perhaps it is just fear, to know the absolute truth of a grim reality, or intrusive in the happiness of someone I don't know. Yet my mind wanders of each one, each story, and each life that accompanies the grave. At the distance I see a crowd of people at the distance, and as a sign of respect, I walk farther from them.
As I walk one grave attracts my attention, is of relative medium size, and from which I read the name, "War hero, Loving husband and father, He would be forever remembered," or something of the sorts, of which I can't accurately remember. yet I remember the date of birth and year of death. With that said, My mind begins to imagine a certain story, fictitious, and probably based on stereotypes, yet I try to keep from the offenses to the owner of the grave. The first image that comes in mind, is the joy of his parents during his birth. By the look of this tiny live, the world surrounding it is painted by a sea of smiles, and of many tender feelings. As if there was a need to protect and to care for this tiny being.
Slowly this child grows, and it seems to be sorounded by cake and ballons as his birth day approaches. He is in the middle of friends and family; all laughing at the world, as it seems that it doesn't matter at the moment, but just a warm embrace of people. The days just passes by as he plays with his new bycycle on a sunny day of summer, and in he is thinking of jumping the self made ramp made out of bricks and wood. Suddenly I think about fall, then winter, spring, and finally summer again. In just a blink of the eyes, the one year goes on again, and another, then another. Until I catch a glimpse of a youth who excels at sports, he might be a little lazzy at school but he has always done what he is supposed to do... well most of the time...
Then at school, he meets a girl, with lovely hair, and a cheerful smile. He keeps looking at her and instantly falls in love with her. Slowly he approaches to her, it was the most beautyful part of his life, just meeting her. Then they both fall for each other, and the rest of their romance is like an impossible dream, perfect despite the imperfections.
This Youth has a dream to serve to his country, and with a naive idea of pariotism, he follows earnestly the path of a soldier. He speaks to his fiance about his idea, and path. She shows disbelief and fear; a perfecctively understadable feeling based on the cirmcunstances. But hesistantently she accepts the path he chooses.
He is enlisted after he graduated from school, and he is transfered right ino conflict. It wasn't that bad at the beggining, just a couple of people screaning in your ear, commanidng respect and obedience. It was in preparation of what is to come, a way of dicipline. Life is not as kind as it might be thought, and this was just in preparation to the horrors of war. In the minddle of the conflict, he reggrets the choices he made. He misses her soon to be wife, and keeps counting explosions, bullets and days, for him to return home.
With this though I begging to think of how many of his friends might be burried alongside of him. Saddly there is no way to tell, but I can imagine that through the dates some will share experiences, situations, and memories. Pehaps that garve on the corner, might be one of his buddies of war, from which perished at the hands of the same conflict, then I have to stop, since reality is a bit to grim as to gointo detail. And from which nothing good will come. Sometimes war is like this, a promise of ideology from which it takes more lives than the ones they give back. Yet this is relative to everyone, and there most be more to ech story than that which I can imagine.
He survived the worst, and now is time to get back home, to come to his future family. With open arms, his wife, accepts him back. Tears on both of their eyes, and a hope and happiness that cannot be taken away, ever again.
The years happen so suddenly again, and a story repeats in itself as he grows old. Looking as his grows in a simmilar manner to his, brings him the outermot joy, and the proud feeling of fatherly love. Soon his son chooses to go to college instead of joining the armed forces. He is accepting of this, and send him of with a blessing.
Soon his time is comming, he is sick now, and feels death knocking at the door. Yet he had so many good memories, and so many regrets, but nothing can be done. He is happy to have lived through all of it, the good the bad, and the rest of life. It is impossible to take it all away, since life is contantly moving. He then wonders, was it all worthy? he looks at his acomplishments, not legendary, but as important to his individual existance. He answers "yes it was all worthy," he looks at his wife one last time before passing away. The rest is written on the epithaph.
Is things like this that makes me feel alive, the looking of a life from which i won't be rembered but from which I enjoyed. There is no way to take the imprefections away, there is no way to change life as it is. Yet, there is a black part of life aswell, from which this look like fairy tales, in comparison to the brutal reality. And yet, choices we take makes us who we are, and by little, we could change all of it for our benefit.
Life is a natural part of death, or was it the other way around?, in any case, wouldn't you think of everything you have lived so far, and find atlest some of it beautyful? wouldn't you want to re-live everything that you enjoyed? Would you find worth in a vanal life? I find mine despite the obstacles, the most wonderful thing of all, and I choose to say yes.
What do you say? do you find your as astonishing?
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