The Pain of Death

As humans… we all possess the knowledge that death is inescapable… we have been blessed (or perhaps cursed) with an elevated mental faculty that the lower species of this occupied planet are postulated as lacking.

Throughout the timeline of an individual’s existence—or rather, beginning at that singular moment one becomes self-aware of their individual insignificant significance—there is this knowing that the body… at some point in time… will cease to function and carry forth… the inheritance… leaving the flesh to return to the dust from which it came.

Humanity does not actually know what death is… does it? How could it? Death is the opposite of life, correct? Or is death simply one of the many fates—the gates—that one must pass through?

Do we—us, you and me, and everyone—become preoccupied with death only when it knocks upon our own door?

Are we afraid of living an unfinished life—having not lived to the fullness of our own potential—and thus avoiding the self-reflection, at the gravest of all costs, required to elevate our individual being… and to collectively perpetuate humanity as a species?

Is it best to develop focused intention on multiplying our innate gifts… rather than what society, country, or clan demands of us?

Is it best to live a life of compounding “good deeds”… over compiling wealth, power, and control?

Is it the fear of death that haunts us… or is it the method—or the means—by which each of us will individually… die—that subjective speculation of the pain experienced in the throes of our own demise—that will manifest as our ultimate torture… or are we simply afraid of what we so… do not know… beyond that which occurs after the termination of this mortal existence?

If you were to know that death would personally visit you on a certain date, at a specific time—what would you change, right now?