I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but, there is something stable about death. Being alive is a state of biological instability and tension, your cells are deteriorating as we speak — we’re all dying. Death is the return to stability, the release of tension. I have to remind myself of this after I look into the mirror after washing my face and seeing it covered in watered down blood. I look like a monster. But it’s also beautiful. What a monstrous beautiful moment before my return to stability.
There is nothing before conception, you don’t exist in the slightest. The makings of you are there, but the exact you that you are comes down to split seconds. You grow this shell, you fill it with blood and tissue and life, and then you die and you leave this shell to rot. It’s all very strange.
I don’t fear death. I have a healthy fear of pain, suffering, being attacked, being kidnapped, being tortured, etc. But actual death seems comforting sometimes. No matter what you do during your life and no matter what happens to you, you will die. Eventually, it doesn’t make a difference who you are, martyr or murderer, you will die. And that’s that. In death there is no pain, physically, mentally, emotionally. I imagine a river that’s constantly rushing rushing rushing and then it just stops, completely still. Like pausing a movie, setting down the remote, and walking out of the living room forever. (Get it? Living room? I need to stop.) I’m not saying we should all run out and kill ourselves, because absolutely no, we shouldn’t do that. But death seems like a pleasant reward after the chaos of life.
There has been so much death lately all around the world, and in mass quantities. People who are breathing and blinking one second and the next minute are gunned down or run over. Death is much harder on the living left behind, because when you’re dead you really can’t give a sh*t about anything anymore. We all joke about death, because what else are we supposed to do? It is the most serious subject a human can consider. The other day I was laying on the floor at a kid’s summer theater camp, and a little camper said to me, “Be careful! You’re going to be stepped on.” And I replied, “That’s OK, I welcome death.” Where did that come from? Why did that exact thought decide to explode into my consciousness? Death is sad and confusing and terrible, but in theory, it is true. I’d much rather die than suffer terribly by any means (or in this case be trampled to death by 35 7-year-olds.)
Death is the only constant in our lives, besides taxes. Death is always on the back burner, always around the corner. It is the only thing that is permanent. Marriage, war, even tattoos are temporary in comparison. I guess what I’m trying to get at is, live while you can. Death is the consequence of living, so you might as well live. Breathe and blink and hug and sing and kiss and dance and have bloody noses and all that jazz while you still can. Embrace the tension and instability of life. Taste your own spit, actually memorize what the back of your hand looks like and goddammit, be alive while you’re still allowed.
