I have felt the teasing flicks of the summer heat here in the little village. I am very lucky to have to swift breeze that runs through the fields, as if I were calling it. I enjoy letting my skin recharge during the summer. My pale legs get to see the world and my cheeks get a new spalsh of color. However, the heat makes my mind a bit crazy. I have been having a hard time to understand this life and its mechanics. I have been questioning the finality of finality. As my grandfather lingers within his memory of his youth, his body is begining to surrender to its demise. And I feel so useless. There is nothing we an do, nothing we can prevent, no hope, no future for him, at least in this life, in that form. Is it hard to comprehend because maybe what we see as finality is not actually final, but instead just a change? Like the caterpillar and the butterfly?
As I was trying to understand death, the heat made me take a pause and observe a moth as it was circling a light bulb. It so desperately wanted to be with the light. However, it was not aware that it ould bring upon it death. It kept of flying closer and closer, until its wings zizzled and fumed. It flew back amazed that the one thing it craved could cause such pain. Nevertheless, it continued. Until the light consumed it, and finally the moth achieved what it wanted, to be one with the light.
It made me ask, is that what death is? The union with all? The union with what we love most... existance, the everlating?
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