But I don’t subscribe to the theory that to realize the meaning of life, you somehow have to step away from living, from everything life has to offer, as if that distance, that denial, hollows out your bones and lets you rise to a place where you can look down at life’s emptiness and with it comprehend your own.
Doesn’t what you see depend on what you seek?
So you change the context, expand it so that you can see yourself as a cog in a giant wheel of spinning infinity, both entirely random and entirely deliberate at the same time? Does it make death more acceptable, Marcus, less fearful, less final?
Will it alter the way you live and think and act if you had no fear of death? If time was both endless and ephemeral at the same time?
how many blossoms will wither
in this garden tonight
the wind measures its shadow