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Life is worth dying for? Is life worth dying for? What is worth dying for? Death is worth living for. Death is worth killing for. Worth. Of what value is life or death?
One's death is not necessarily an indicator of the worth of their life. How is one's life changed by the nature of their death other than the obvious end that it brings? In the memory of others we live, and with a dramatic finish comes a certain amount of punctuation to our life's sentence. To desire a flamboyant death we wish to be eulogized with envy. The vanity of suicide is likely contemptuous for it's participants seemingly guaranteed pity. By drawing attention to our suffering we do nearly the same. Nearly.
While death may be painless (I can't be sure until it happens), it is the dying that hurts us. Sylvia Plath (I do believe) said that from the moment we are born we begin to die. She stuck her head in an oven to end it all. Perhaps perspective is everything.
Is it that death is our reward for living?
Death is the release of dying. We die to live. The suffering involved in living is our burden. How come so often we forget?
I want to pull off your ear and yell loud enough so that it cannot be ignored any longer. Too often we compare our suffering to others and make value assessments as to whom deserves their life more by determining what kind of price they have paid for it. Our suffering is unique to ourselves but the saturating beauty of existing and living is a common reward. Why do we allow our suffering to keep us from connecting and enhancing our living experience. Perhaps the only unbearable and insufferable life is that of pure loneliness.
I don't stand by any of this, I'm only guessing.
One's death is not necessarily an indicator of the worth of their life. How is one's life changed by the nature of their death other than the obvious end that it brings? In the memory of others we live, and with a dramatic finish comes a certain amount of punctuation to our life's sentence. To desire a flamboyant death we wish to be eulogized with envy. The vanity of suicide is likely contemptuous for it's participants seemingly guaranteed pity. By drawing attention to our suffering we do nearly the same. Nearly.
While death may be painless (I can't be sure until it happens), it is the dying that hurts us. Sylvia Plath (I do believe) said that from the moment we are born we begin to die. She stuck her head in an oven to end it all. Perhaps perspective is everything.
Is it that death is our reward for living?
Death is the release of dying. We die to live. The suffering involved in living is our burden. How come so often we forget?
I want to pull off your ear and yell loud enough so that it cannot be ignored any longer. Too often we compare our suffering to others and make value assessments as to whom deserves their life more by determining what kind of price they have paid for it. Our suffering is unique to ourselves but the saturating beauty of existing and living is a common reward. Why do we allow our suffering to keep us from connecting and enhancing our living experience. Perhaps the only unbearable and insufferable life is that of pure loneliness.
I don't stand by any of this, I'm only guessing.