Passing as I have got got got through this land of quiet shadows, tortured dreamings whilst life out this, my life of sorrow and pain, it looks I have discovered that true freedom is lost just after the dawning of our passing.
For although this decease of mine have finally enabled my release from the trials, the heartaches, indeed the changeless entrancement and bludgeoning of my all too delicate a soul,
and even though I have, upon the death of my physical self, been finally rewarded a true and permanent peace, the terms of this release,
the terms of this peace have with it brought about the complete loss of my individual freedoms.
For the dead, once dead, are truly at the clemency of the life - the police, who expression into when necessary,
the docs who execute their necropsies station mortem and the family's thankful and entire gratefulness to the staff of the funeral places who work with diligence to give those once tortured psyches an ageless smiling of garish effervescence,
so much so that everyone alive volition look and say, "Ooh, He/She looks so nice, just like I
remember him/her", and then walk away in their head covering of hypocritical bliss.
In so doing, they are also destroying all grounds that mightiness be given to back up a growth theory concerning the being of an overpowering figure of souls,
similarly lost, similarly weakened, and one by one similarly
vanquished by a darkness, indeterminate and unassailable, a darkness unyielding in its end of entire absorption.
That is, the soaking up of the life-force of all mankind, culminating finally with the assimilation of his psyche into a single and cosmopolitan spirit of oneness,
destroying in its aftermath all memories of each tortured life and bringing to an end,
the consciousness of that life filled with agony, assailed with heartache.
Yes, possibly it was a life best forgotten...yet perhaps it was in this life of torture and agony that we were most truly free.
I make not intend to state free of pain, no, but rather am I saying that this hurting of ours was at least more than than of our ain choosing, as was the grade and strength of our chosen torment.
For if and when we so desired, we could happen clip to disregard it, if lone for a small while.
Because, warts and all, it was our life, belonging to us, and as such,
thus did we cherish it, and thus could we never destruct it, even at modern times of top suffering.
After all, it was to us a life resplendent, and was indeed blessed with a spirit of true human individualism and freedom.
And more importantly, it was ours!