?death?
I believe I came into awareness of it around the age of eight. My parents had explained the concept to my siblings and I, prior to putting a pet to sleep. I associated the concept with the blackness of unconsciousness, and it terrified me from the very beginning. I used to lay in bed at night, trying to sleep, but inevitably dwelling on the fact that eventually I would not play, laugh, run, or cry...forever. A physical sensation of cold would actually spread from the center of my chest, as though my heart were stopping, and I would burst out of bed. Running down the hall and into the kitchen, where my parents were often still enjoying a small glass of wine, I'd cry "I don't want to die!". My poor mother and father would try to comfort me, but what do you say to an eight year old who is already afraid of the natural consequences of birth? We attended a church, but only for the life lessons taught there; no one believed in heaven.
And for this reason, I cannot handle discussions of astronomy, as events of any significance in the universe usually take several thousand lifetimes, minimum, and as the conversation wears on, I am gradually filled with an icy despair. Even if the science fiction concept of infinitely prolonged life was developed (and I don't even humorously consider the idea) eventually the earth would be destroyed either by the gravity well of the sun or its death. Excluding meteor showers, galactic collisions, the collapse/tearing of the universe, dimensional clashing, etcetera. Bleak.
These thoughts often come back to me when I am left alone for too long, or when I'm waiting to fall asleep. They tarnish my relationships and actions. Because if you fear death, you have to question the value of what you're losing: life. And ultimately, we are self preserving programs desperately trying to pass ourselves on through procreation. My attraction to my girlfriend is a design created out trial and error in order to distribute my genes. While that doesn't invalidate my relationship in the context of our society, it still makes me question many of my decisions. We may not be bound to fulfill biological imperatives, but none of us can pretend we are unaffected by them. Not if we've ever had sex or desired to.
I stare at the ceiling trying to reason my purpose as a conscious, deterministic, biological machine while Emily tosses and turns next to me, seeking that perfect soft spot on the pillow. Holding my hand in front of my face, I flex my fingers mechanically, and imagine my arm as a wet colony of millions of cells, all following a complex plan that fits neatly in the nucleus of each individual. Not unlike a cat, or even the pattern followed by molecules in a crystalline formation. What an odd pattern I am. How do I reconcile that the very thoughts of doubt regarding my existence are the inevitable result of the current balance of chemicals being relayed within the fatty organ housed within my calcium carrying case? Are they still my own thoughts? In the sense the question was asked, the answer must be no.
I suspect this is why I am a fairly extroverted person half the time. Personal distraction. It may also be why I've strayed far from the sciences (that and geology is so very boring).
There is one light at the end of this tunnel. While I cannot convince myself there is an afterlife, (because self deception is unforgivable, even as an antidote to intense fear) I do not lament the time I never had prior to birth. I came out of oblivion, and I shall return to it. There is something oddly comforting about that. A cycle of darkness, or at least a blip of light inside it.
Ah, self awareness, you are such a mental burden.
And for this reason, I cannot handle discussions of astronomy, as events of any significance in the universe usually take several thousand lifetimes, minimum, and as the conversation wears on, I am gradually filled with an icy despair. Even if the science fiction concept of infinitely prolonged life was developed (and I don't even humorously consider the idea) eventually the earth would be destroyed either by the gravity well of the sun or its death. Excluding meteor showers, galactic collisions, the collapse/tearing of the universe, dimensional clashing, etcetera. Bleak.
These thoughts often come back to me when I am left alone for too long, or when I'm waiting to fall asleep. They tarnish my relationships and actions. Because if you fear death, you have to question the value of what you're losing: life. And ultimately, we are self preserving programs desperately trying to pass ourselves on through procreation. My attraction to my girlfriend is a design created out trial and error in order to distribute my genes. While that doesn't invalidate my relationship in the context of our society, it still makes me question many of my decisions. We may not be bound to fulfill biological imperatives, but none of us can pretend we are unaffected by them. Not if we've ever had sex or desired to.
I stare at the ceiling trying to reason my purpose as a conscious, deterministic, biological machine while Emily tosses and turns next to me, seeking that perfect soft spot on the pillow. Holding my hand in front of my face, I flex my fingers mechanically, and imagine my arm as a wet colony of millions of cells, all following a complex plan that fits neatly in the nucleus of each individual. Not unlike a cat, or even the pattern followed by molecules in a crystalline formation. What an odd pattern I am. How do I reconcile that the very thoughts of doubt regarding my existence are the inevitable result of the current balance of chemicals being relayed within the fatty organ housed within my calcium carrying case? Are they still my own thoughts? In the sense the question was asked, the answer must be no.
I suspect this is why I am a fairly extroverted person half the time. Personal distraction. It may also be why I've strayed far from the sciences (that and geology is so very boring).
There is one light at the end of this tunnel. While I cannot convince myself there is an afterlife, (because self deception is unforgivable, even as an antidote to intense fear) I do not lament the time I never had prior to birth. I came out of oblivion, and I shall return to it. There is something oddly comforting about that. A cycle of darkness, or at least a blip of light inside it.
Ah, self awareness, you are such a mental burden.