What does it take to Survive?

        Survive? Well, not just any type of Survive. But survive Survive. It is that existential crippling of the self, one that can’t be escaped, but one that must be freed from. With broken legs, you still continue onwards. “Because you need to,” that’s what your instinct and body tells you. You need to walk—you MUST. How else will you escape the tiger? But of course, even if you logically can’t escape it, you still try to. Who cares if a tiger can run as fast as a tow-truck? When your life is in danger, the only word your mouth can mutter is “Run.” It’s so simple.

That’s one type of survival. One I’m rather envious of.

        Why does it work so? Why is that called survival and not “running away from an imminent death?” Well, why do people desire immortality? Is it the dread of knowing all the predecessors before you have all succumbed to it once? That mysterious aura alludes to the one word synonymous with death. Whether the word may be Something or Nothing, is always the thing in the back of everyone’s mind. Even when not consciously thought of, it exists there, sleeping in wait for that moment you fall. Only once. Once. Let that settle in for a moment. Simmer it on high in the back of your head. Maybe if you toss a couple peaches—no. There’s no escaping death. I’m sure most people know that. And still, people wince when the idea is mentioned. Not simply death—death isn’t the idea. Rather, it’s simple. The death of the identity. The death of the ego, superego, id, your mom. Something you can associate with. I mean, do people really care about the deaths of people halfway across the world? Starvation and what not? I’m sure some are, and I don’t blame them. It’s a good distraction.—You know, distracting the thought of one’s own mortality with the mortality of others. It’s fascinating, it truly is. Us humans act in very strange ways. We grief, but only for a moment. We think, but only for a moment. And we live, but only for a moment. Yet, we all feel for eternity… Or however long your candle stays lit.

It’s really a wonder how people are so kind yet hateful at the same time.

        We all live under an hourglass. It is so obviously there—so obvious that few try to think about it. Or maybe they do think. Just not aloud. Even the overly gregarious folks tend not to. What is it that we must ignore? What is it that must not be named? What is IT? All questions anyone can ask. But will we ever know the answer? Obviously, it can’t be heaven, I’ve done so many bad deeds. Obviously, it can’t be hell, I’m not bad enough for that. And obviously, death isn’t just death—it’s DEATH. That’s it. DEATH. And even more obviously, that’s all bollocks. What obvious? Why Reincarnation of course! What else is more obvious than that? Do you want to become a perpetually immortal figure transcribed into artificial machinery? And why would you want that? Do you really want to see everyone you know and love fade away? Why would anyone want that? Just, why. Why would you damn yourself to such a fate? Isn’t succumbing to your destined fate good enough? Why would you want to even dare destroy the mortal coil? I don’t understand your thirst. I really don’t. I can’t imagine a more painful way to—… How perplexing.

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Maybe death is the gradual degradation of the essence and not the physical body.

        What we fear may not actually be physical death. Maybe it’s—dare I suggest this—the idea. The idea of death itself. The idea that the idea dies… Am I crazy? You understand what I’m saying, right? Your ancestors may have perished, but their heritage has not died—neither has the family tradition. Have they really died? Maybe they are still living. I don’t know. As time goes on, things usually depreciate in value—that’s what economics taught me. While there are instances where things skyrocket in value, when it comes to the long-term, most things die out. Be it, music, dance, language… And people. So what happens to a person that doesn’t die? Sounds impossible, doesn’t it? I agree. Even entertaining the thought is impossible to envision. What does such a being look like? Is it still a “he,” or a “she?” Maybe it isn’t a person entirely. A being that has lost the mortal connection between people may no longer be a person itself. It really may just be a human that resides in an ever-aging body. What even constitutes a person? I definitely don’t know. Maybe I’m not a person either. But everyone’s a human, I know that much. That’s our biology. Maybe IT isn’t human either. Sure, there’s that one jellyfish species that is immortal. So if there comes a race of immortal humanoid-beings, then wouldn’t it be rational to say they are a new species? After all, immortality in biological terms is just a newly adapted characteristic.

It’s still stupid.

        Even if such sentient beings were to exist, what do they live for? It’s a question not even I know the answer to. Someone will say our reason to exist is to live our happiest lives. Someone else will say it is to help as many people as we can. Some will say there is no reason. Some will say to do whatever you want. And some—like me, don’t know. We have enough trouble figuring that out ever since the time of Ancient Greece whence philosophy started. Who’s to say immortal sentients will figure it out? Even those who’ve come to the reasoning that the universe is completely irrational and meaningless still live—well, we only ever hear from the ones who can still talk. Have you ever thought about it? The phrase, “talk the talk, but never walk the walk.” It has occurred to me many times, that it may not be correct to say.

It’s a self-applicable quote.

        “History is written by the winners.”

A very admirable quote.

        But who wrote it? Who is it that first said it? Well, “History is written by the winners,” so whoever “won” apparently wrote the quote. Who’s to say the one who actually wrote the quote wasn’t buried by the one who “won?” Let’s do another one.

“Freedom is nothing but a chance to be better.”

        What’s the value of freedom when you’ve become immortal? The limitation set on you has long expired. Time no longer shackles you nor does death. And yet, you ask of us to be better. Why is that? I can’t derive any more satisfaction out of “being better” than I can succumb to my inner greed. What does it mean to be better when you have nothing to be better at? Where’s the goal? I’ve cheated death already… Now what?