Today, she speaks of
The inevitability of waiting being found lifeless or just barely existing... ...The trail of crimson resistance that will lead to its wasted discovery...
Which brings my pondering to a subject familiar to me, but a bit dusty from disuse and worthy of fresh consideration... That the thing we collectively fear is the best alternative. We reach further and further, more and more fervidly, seeking to gather up all the years between ourselves and the misty shadows of advanced decrepitude without even considering the eventual arrival at our implied destination...
We all seek to get old, without any thought about being old... Especially about existence at the farthest crumbling edges of old age.
The price tag for all our science and medicine and nutrition is this withering slow structural failure and delicate tip-toeing advance into the waiting arms of death.
Being propped up in a corner while creeping black mould and wispy cobwebs advance across the surface of our being with the unhurried deliberation of the inevitable, the color and vibrancy of our essence gradually leeching away until we are, as a whole, the same unobtrusive, nearly invisible gray as all the unseen commonplace bits of reality that exist at the muted and slightly blurred peripheral edges of our collective vision... With every leaping advance we make, this becomes less a rare fate of the few and more a sarcastically bitter and apathetic parting gift for the masses.
We all wail and gasp when someone dies a sudden, unexpected death - How terrible! What a shock! - without much thought or mention at all of the alternative... Perhaps because our conscious minds cannot even acknowledge that once incredibly rare alternative... That we will, more and more of us every year, simply and quietly and utterly alone, ossify, petrify, crumble to dust, and silently fade away to nothingness.