There's a death that's kind that kills what ails us and leaves us in peace, it comes in silence and purges what makes us forget.
No wonder we fear the silence and the still, when we remember who's in charge.

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@youareworthsomethingdammit
There's a death that's kind that kills what ails us and leaves us in peace, it comes in silence and purges what makes us forget.
No wonder we fear the silence and the still, when we remember who's in charge.
On a night such as this, I go walking; I go walking on a night such as this and in its crispness I remember for a while that I am not who I am named to be, which I repeat in the day In the night I remember
We are all of us doomed to die, and fall prey to the inevitable spectre of cessation; we are all doomed to the fear of loss, to the anticipation of pain and the anxieties of being rescued by the good And we will lose We will crumble beneath pain; we will be haunted in the face of the spectre and cease and be dead
It is our fate
But this is not a sad song It is not a canticle of despair, but of gladness For in the midst of the grim inevitables -- of death, of pain, of losing and of ceasing -- there is a fire that comes kindled by the lightning-strike and your human heart will marvel at it, marvel as something has been given up to you as a gift And you will remember death, and loss, and pain, and your heart shall tremble with the anxious ghost; but you will not fall Not now At this hour you will rage against the inevitables of death, and become life God shall be born in the face of the Divine, and the true worth and fury of being is now hot within you You are alive You are vibrant, and you are full of hope, and purpose and happiness enduring lie firm within your hands
And you will lose: in time your body will quit and the fire will smother and a new sorrow shall fall upon your brow But the odds you will triumph alive, on to fight tomorrow's despairs and rage boundless against death's impatient sufferings, will be reported in the newspaper back-page, crumpled and torn in the side street where the evidence of your passing can be heard for those with care enough to listen to your echoes and see the trailing of your coattail
And I am not a gambling man but for your sake, and for your cause, I will post the richness of my wage in heart and in hundreds upon you
Seeking a lasting wisdom, a perseverance of meaning through the whipping transience of life:
pay heed to all things only in passing
for there is no thingness to things
but see in these things the accumulation of fundaments accreted into indivisible, jumbled piles --
the things of matter, clumped of the elements of matter; but what of things not of matter? what elements comprise these but fire and wind
fire and wind
it is all rudimentary, after all childish in the end: wind feeds fire, stoking it to roar; fire sends the wind in turn surging
falseness and truth are altogether without thingness (as with all things)
-- but see the circuit to these words:
in a thing immaterial, like a feeling or a thought, there is that which is wind which feeds the fire of action, there is that which is fire which feeds the wind of speech, and there is that which is neither and naught which feeds nothing and the apathy to each;
tell me that which is real, and which is not.
There can be little more devastating in the world than a feeling of outsideness. Nothing more dehumanizing. Inside is the locus of worth -- outside is nothing at all: it is the contrast of absence against inside's shining presence. It is not-that. And it is true -- in absence, there is nothing. there is nothing in the dark. But there is nothing in the dark. Nothing But you. Close your eyes. Alone and lightless in the nothing: are you nothing there? Or is there a surging plane of heat and heart, fire and red dream, alive within the dark? You are not nothing. All things are greater united than divided -- that is the way of holiness and all things true -- but there is no thing that creates worth by combination that is not itself great on its own. You are not nothing. You are a human. Turn around, and open your eyes. With your back turned to that radiant light, is the dark still dark? Or do you see the faraway glint of so many fiery human stars? -- And look at your feet nearby: see the shadow curled away from the bright of your own glow. You can turn back to that great light if you wish -- it is warm and brilliant there after all -- and remember, no matter, that as you walk towards the shining walls of another's light, there is every reason that one should walk towards yours.