We’re already dead. You are, I am, we’re all just walking dead people. It’s just a matter of time before we wink out. Or, maybe, this is death, and what happens at the end is the release. Think about it: if someone really was alive, how can they simply just “die” and vanish from existence like some sort of hologram? I think it means that we aren’t truly real. This life itself isn’t real. It’s a manifestation of something–I’m not sure what. Perhaps it really is a huge f*king turtle, like the Hindu scriptures say.
What’s worse is that we don’t have a choice over the timing. When it comes for you, you have to be happy with whatever it is you’ve accomplished, and just be at peace. It’s true we can try to end it ourselves, but that takes a lot of bravery. Whoever said that people who commit suicide are cowards is an a*hole.
Sometimes I wonder if those scores of young people who commit suicide in that forest at the base of Mount Fiji haven’t struck upon the right idea, because maybe there’s a consciousness out there that’s stringing us about like puppets. Imagine what would happen if, suddenly, all the puppets said, “you know what? We’re sick of this. We’re not going to be your pawns anymore, f*k you. Go find someone else to f*k with.” The puppeteer would be screwed. The consciousness of the human race would shift, and we’d turn the gears of the universe.
I’m not advocating anything here. I’m just throwing out thoughts.
Emotions can be insane things to control. I know what the scientists will say, that they are pathways created by neurons. Keep feeding a certain emotion or a way of thinking, and you strengthen that pathway until it becomes an almighty highway in your brain, and then you’ve screwed yourself. Still. Don’t you ever get the feeling that you’re a mouse in a cage, when you find yourself in the throes of wanting something? Like someone’s teasing you. Are they? Is it a devil? Is the devil real? The next time that happens, refuse to give in. Even if it’s only for a few minutes. Don’t buy that thing, don’t check your texts. F*k it. Why be a slave to it? Refuse. Delay the gratification–or whatever. See what happens. You’ll come face to face with a demon. Demons can be kind of cool.