Needless to say, if I ever decide definitively against suicide, this weblog would end. Same thing, although for a different reason, if I decide definitively in favor of it.
This morning, it was all about wondering about living. Not because living is such a great idea over dying (in the long run, that is), but because of how vague "living" and "dying" have become for me. Particularly "dying", as of late. It's gotten much less tangible. Almost as intangible as "living", in fact.
Dying has always been a fixation of mine; sometimes morbid, sometimes existential, sometimes just fact. Living my life; living my life out without a forseeable end has never been my reality.
Living and dying is like breathing in and breathing out, two parts of a whole. Yin-Yang, day-night, left hand-right hand, sunrise-sunset, high tide-low tide, sleeping-waking, spring-summer-fall-winter. I believe. If our lives are the breath of god, living is just one half of it.
Why not live while alive, die when dead? Death seeps into our living anyway; we live, but death is always there. And in dying, if you believe in reincarnation, living is still the focus, still the goal, where you came from and where you're going. My absolutes have broken down, and I'm not so sure anymore how dying now, or foreseeably, necessarily . . . serves that little, clear, blinding light that is my true self and purpose.
But to decide to live now? After scuttling every possible future where I may have landed and have been remotely
Let's just say I'm having a crisis of confidence. I don't know what to do. And that's worse for me than knowing I want to do what everyone else doesn't want me to do. This, my friends, was my posting on living.
