Mart-deBlog

Every second cells collapse. We are all dying. Our body weakens. As the mask of death appears in the mirror. Staring at you. Do you know the face of your decay? Your nemesis? We all have our own destruction. My face of death has a bald head, some sleek hair on the side and a long straight nose. Its back is hairy and crooked, its carcass bleak and skinny. Eyes blue as ice. It is ugly and afraid of people. And in my reflection it grins over the sadness of lost youth. Lost attraction. Sucking the charm from my veins. But why its anger? What is the reason behind its fierce attacks? I aged fast. And I do not know why. Maybe it is because I am fascinated by death. Drawn towards its tune. Or maybe I do something wrong. Am I consuming life, do I live off the rhythm? Because there is a beat of life. Or a meaning. And thus I wondered, is philosophy the way to death? Socrates said that contemplation is the supreme form of dying and philosophers strive to die. Thinking moves the spirit away from the body, so he said. But Socrates knew only that he knew nothing. That was his one standpoint. And there is no meaning in it. And thus Socrates questioned. Drifting away from meaning. Away from life and towards his own death. Nietzsche did not know what to believe and became sick. I do not know what to believe and I age. To experience meaning is the task. Might truth be the only way -for me- to wear off the mask of death? To create a worldview that I believe to be true?

And so, is this all true? Is it all nonsense; genetic? Mere metaphors? And ask yourself, do you know the way of your death? And then there is the other way. The quest for immortality. As we search for the everchanging rhythm of life. Amen.