11 May 2015

Memento mori

I do not think I am afraid of death. I am afraid of the life of me that will remain, when or if I pass that is, and the legacy I leave and the words spoken of me freely because I am no more. Did I live well? Was my character kind and honest? Did I love and was I loved? Will be a remembered as a sinner or a saint, or even more honorable to me: both?

So there it is: I fear what people think of me more than my own end. I am not necessarily driven to live more or to live greater in order to leave a better legacy. I have lived a good life. I have traveled. I have read. I have learned. I have seen beautiful things. I have seen sorrow and joy. I have asked hard questions. I have loved someone and I have felt love. I have sought to make my world better, although I haven't always succeeded. I have searched for the kingdom of heaven and I thought I had found it.

Perhaps one thing remains, and that is I have not wrestled with God as Jacob. Do I really want that? Do I seek a true cathartic experience with God? Do I fear leaving bruised and worn, having lost all I love as did Job? Do I really fear death, or do I fear the dying before death, or the living after it?

Southern Luzon, Philippines

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