Incomprehensible Nothingness

We don't speak of it. We build entire belief systems to wall out any realistic and sane discussion of it.

How can both certainty and ignorance be equally soul-crushing? Simultaneous confidence and fear about the knowledge of the state of the existential fate of the human race, the knowledge of the insanity of the very words and concept. Fear that my words won't survive my death. Fear that my death is closer at hand than even I expected, and the anxiety of needing to but not wanting to find out. Inspired by daily struggles of maintaining a household and a sane and stable front and home for my kids. Fear that, if I do find out, I won't have the strength, courage, the desire to fight for my life, or would even have the need to.

But, I feel I have always been on the verge of dying. Never okay with my place in this world and the human race's obvious pointlessness. I all too often throw up my hands in the face of perceived threats to my health.

Constant pain and suffering and conflict in the world fills me with absolute dread at the thought of leaving it to my children, and guilt over the hope that there won't be one to leave them. 

Cavalier thoughts of death is death. Once you die, you're dead. Dead is dead. Like flipping a switch, you will be here one second and gone the next, the only thoughts will be of those you have left behind. You will no longer exist on this or any other plane. The fact that we have not seen what is on the other side is proof enough. At best, it's me hedging my bets. If there is more, great. But resigning to 'done is done' is a more logical outcome. It is because we don't know and because we have spent so much time and energy building up defenses against absolute knowledge of what the afterlife is.

The fact that the religious have faith...proves they do not know, that they will die and enter into an unknown state and they would much rather it be one of fluffy clouds and a paradise where you can pet lions and hug your long-lost loved ones.

I don't necessarily want to die. I mean, aside from the fact that I believe that the alleviation of all thought and pain would be a sweet release, I love my family. I am just more resigned to life's end than the average Joe. 

I believe in the pointlessness of the human race, beyond it being another living, breathing, shitting organism like every other being. I believe morals are what you make them and that we need to make the best of what we have now because this is it. I believe death means oblivion, an incomprehensible nothingness. There is no continuing life force. There is you one second, then an empty husk the next. You can have comfort in the memory of dead and gone loved ones, but there are no entities to whom you can pray and tell about your day.

You would be speaking to incomprehensible nothingness.

Where will it all go? The things we accomplish. The things we pull from our souls when we are lower than we have ever been. The inspired, the beautiful, the wounded products of our souls.

Where will it all go?

As much as we rail against the coming darkness, it will consume us. Hope is not the desire for good. Hope is the desire for the blindness we want when we are faced with the darkness, creeping and flowing over our skin, savoring our every cell. Hope is what you have after you admit you have already been consumed by that which you fear.