I think sometimes—often, some seasons—that I have reasoned myself out of my fear of death. this issue of the fear of death has of course compounded since losing my faith, and I can no longer envision how I felt when I still had a sense of the eternal. I think sometimes that I have outgrown my fear of death, that it's only a part of reality; and perhaps even that it is the existence of death that gives meaning to everything that precedes it. but this ultimately ends up feeling more like ignorance, and thinking on it for any amount of time in an emotional way has me terrified again.
so either we can live in constant fear of death, or we can live in ignorance. being self-conscious has two distinct meanings, one negative and one positive. either it means Someone who cares too much about his body or spirit or Someone who is aware of his body or spirit. maybe these meanings are contradictory and only a slip of language, but in both meanings, if someone stops being self-conscious, they lose and gain something. the negative meaning; they gain confidence but may lose modesty and the ability to police oneself. the positive meaning; they gain a connectedness—enlightenment, perhaps—but lose the sense of time.
from a Western perspective, our sense of time can be understood as The I which continues to exist. of course we can only be aware of time in the form and speed in which we experience it, and therefore it can only be understood self-referentially. my fear of death rears its head when I think of things emotionally, which paradoxically seems to be happening more as I become more of an adult. I'm 26 now, and even two years ago I was militantly rational, of the dogmatic opinion that reason is the way we understand the world, but now my opinion is much closer to believing It is impossible to understand the world with reason.
since my last blog post, I have visited Germany for a celebration of my great aunt's eighty years, and for a relaxed blood-get-together. the place I took the above photo, Römerberg, is a beautiful historical village, a set of houses in the old style. it was completely destroyed by Allied (British) bombshells during the Second War, and so what stands there now are a modern reimagining. this knowledge didn't make them any less beautiful, but it did make the experience more melancholic. no, what made the experience less-than-beautiful was the anti-Erdogan rally (understandable, I'm sure) which disrupted the whole of Frankfurt and then settled inside the square. the cropped bottom of the photo shows shaken pedestrians and military police.
and of course yesterday, the attack on Manchester happened. I'm not using this blog as a news journal, or a way to convey political beliefs, so I'll speak of things through my new emotional lens, which is inherently self-focused, but hopefully it won't seem too narcissistic. when I first heard the news of the explosion (at that time it was thought to be either a balloon that burst and caused a confused stampede, or a speaker that exploded), I lamented at the tragedy in a detached way, thinking of all the ways the facts could be relayed, and interested to learn more. it was not until midday today, when they announced the first few names of the deceased, including an eight-year-old girl, that the other, much older, part of my brain took over; what in times prior we would have called Heart. the news stopped me, I was unable to talk to my colleagues more than grunts, and I couldn't concentrate on work. I became unfeasibly sad at the news, as I was very aware that either I would become very sad or very angry, and anger wouldn't have been 'helpful' in my situation. even now I can't stop thinking about the lives lost.
wow, a very disjointed and hastily-written post this time.
earnestly, Elliot
