I have recently been thinking about the nature of reality and life and death. Mostly because I am far too sullen for someone in his mid twenties who is as attractive as I am, and partly because I am deep and intellectual and actually do write poetry from time to time.
While musing to myself, drinking tea, listening to podcasts of people describing psychedelic experiences, and staring at an optical illusion image that always seems to be moving I remembered this chestnut: when you die it is said that your body looses 21 grams. How they could possibly measure such a thing, as a gram is only about 1/27th of an ounce and could literally be placed in the palm of your hand without you noticing, they don't seem to have a real answer to, but this little bit of factoid has led people to claim that it might be (or in the more extreme cases just flat out declare that it is) the soul leaving the human body. I am somewhat skeptical.
Regardless of this, I found myself having to do what I always do and came to this conclusion, be an incredibly cynical raincloud over everyone's afterlife picnic. You might inexplicably loose 21 grams when you die, but there is something more certain, you do empty your bowels. Guess which of these two things has a greater impact on the world you leave behind.
Death is not majestic, graceful, or romantic. Death is at best an escape route for the one doing the dying, at worst it is the final punctuation to a life that meandered and left unfulfilled. For those left behind it is a pyrrhic victory, hopefully the person who just died will be thought of as no longer a burden or threat, at worst we are denied the further much needed or desired companionship of a person who is now beyond the veil.
So I guess those are the thoughts I had while waiting for my tea to steep. Now I will go listen to some aimless melodies and do some stretches before I head off to bed.
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