It Goes On
There are two types of people: those who fear death and those who fear dying.
All shall die, of course, and this is the fact that haunts them all. The former live their lives forgetting death, the latter, remembering. Their humanity — the result of the human condition — is what binds them, and that is to say not that they have a mutual awareness of death so much as a mutual awareness of life. And most people spend their lives trying to forget that they are dying. For, you see, death is not a moment, but a process — albeit a process unfolding simultaneously with life. In fact, one might go so far as to say the two are one in the same, moving in opposite directions…but that might take a great deal of explaining. At any rate, I was in a place of happy forgetters and sad rememberers, and I am neither, and it made me lonely.
In a manageable whirlwind of madness, all of these things began to occur to me. So I jumped into the car, blazed along the motorway, and set out to purchase a white board, as one does. This was a simple, fairly quick task, so as not to distract from the web of wonder my brain was weaving. And in a very odd moment of such overwhelming gravity I nearly burst into tears, there in the check-out line, I looked round as all the people and all the things the people had made and built and bought and begged suddenly ceased being people and all of their things. Suddenly, I was surrounded by stories stowed away in bones and flesh and fibres; surrounded by secrets of people desperately trying to forget. Dragging the white board back to the car, thrusting the vehicle back onto the motorway, the world I saw had changed.
There is no better place to see how people have forgotten than in gridlock: how they relentlessly, thoughtlessly press on, oblivious as possible to those around them, each one as certain as the next that the only aim of significance is his or her own, each one prepared to get where she is going as quickly as he is able, and each one throwing her patience to those towing the long line he is trying to break. Then the ambulance arrives, and each one stops, partially because it is the law…and partially because, for just a moment, she remembers. And in that moment he remembers, he is as grateful for his life as he is frightened of its passing. There is no doubt that death one day will not merely pass us by, and no starker reminder than an ambulance pushing past a sea of metal boxes just a few paces form their intended exit; there is no doubt that life is but a series of death’s glancing blows until one fatal hit delivers us to our fate.
As we ring in a new year of life, let us remember that life will end.
Let us remember that we have no choice in the matter. Let us remember that the choice we do have is how we spend the random years we have, and that is why life is meant to be celebrated this way. Most crucially, let us remember that we do not need a calendar to tell us when to celebrate, or when to change, or when to move forward. The world turns constantly and without question: it will not wait for us to act, and neither should we. May this year be the year we forget what Time owes to us, and remember what we owe to Time. May this be the year we no longer simply live, but that we finally come alive.
Listen to this week’s episode, New Years and New Days: Expectations, Reflections, and Resolutions.
Written by Kaitlynn McRae of Comatose.
Comatose is a weekly series of amusing anecdotes, insightful commentary, and pithy stories. Every week three contributors are featured in short segments. The segments, though often unrelated, are tied together using music and narration to set the scene. Relax and enjoy the ride while listening to topics as varied as love, birthdays, and reciprocity.
You can find Comatose on Facebook, Twitter, iTunes, and Stitcher.
Memories of a Dog ← Previous — Next → Ceci n’est pas un produit.
