So I’m thinking of writing a book based upon the concept of death and the mysteries and experiences that surround it. Using the foundation of my philosophical writings I am trying to depict the journey of a man who passes over. Here’s what I have so far: (criticisms, advice and comments would be much appreciated)
In the end we all come to this in the end don’t we? When the essence of what makes our existence is swept away on the wings of an angel and our life hangs by a fragile thread which frays with each passing moment. Is this when we are supposed to realise that we have muddled through this world, just living for the sake of living? Living for the sake of life… Yet oddly a sense of excitable apprehension passes over the frailty that I inhabit. Death: the dreaded inevitable moment which we run from our entire lives, the eventuality that is perceived as the only concrete connecting block between men (I believe Charles Bukowski had something to say on the matter).However for me, at this moment, it is not as if ‘impending doom’ beats upon my door. No, lights it seems are appearing through cracks in the reality which my heavy, heavy body lays.
Time Freezes for what would be regarded a lifetime; no it was only a second, an entire existence spins past as a blur but I can make out every aspect of it. In great vivid motion, each experience which constituted my existence appear merging into simultaneous action; the day I was born is also the day I met her, the day I left school is also today which is also the day I was born and the day I met her. It’s a web really, a fantastical web. Each event perceived as seemly separate, yet they really are all just synchronized. As if my life’s montage is actually layered with a veil of transparent images, each only visible as separate. When each piece of my intricate and somewhat confusing montage comes full circle into the ‘present’ (in which I believed I was passing into oblivion) time no longer exists.
Everything that once was truth now appears linear and really what we thought was, really is not…It seems where I dwell there is a new found confusion which somehow is being lifted by the presence of age-old clarity. It’s not as if I am a physical entity anymore, yet I cannot shake that attainable imagery from my present state. So here I wait detached from the physical body which I apparently no longer associate with my existence, unsure of what occurs now…
An abyss of nothingness; what an incomprehensible state that would be.