Morbid thoughts, morbid mind
It's a strange thing - I think a few years ago, anyone who knew would say that I'm the most positive, lighthearted and energetic person around... My dad, in circumstances I won't delve into over here, even wrote a letter to the Finnish university board, that mentioned my positive outlook torwards life.
It's interesting that such features - most of all the lighthearted part - can really morph over time. I mean, I've been surprised, in the past few years, to encounter numerous instances where people have been telling me to lighten up and chill out... so far no comments on energy or positiveness, but I wonder if they are far down the road?
Today during a drama seminar, we were presented with three different settings for a possible revenge... my colleagues picked the obvious one - the dark alleyway, whereas I found that way too obvious and opted for the sunny field, embellishing it with a corpse rotting in the fields of hay, being pecked away at by crows... There was a small stunned silence from the class, until somebody laughed and said "I think you are just a morbid thinker".
Interesting. I guess I am... I just had a discussion with a friend the other day, where we talked about death, and I stated that I really wouldn't mind too much if I were to die any moment soon. My friend retaliated that that would be selfish, not to care about my own death - as there are others around - my parents, my friends - who would inevitably be hurt by this.
But is this just a form of attachment? Should we all not be accepting of the fact that death is a part of life and that there is nothing more we can do than to face it, and face the fact that we are truly unprepared for it? I think I cannot afford to blindly go through life without acknowledging that with every step I take, death - mortality - stands beside me. That knowledge, and that kind of outlook in life - can lead to two ends. One in which I take a decidedly fatalist approach to life and achieve nothing because I will die anyhow, and nothing I do now will matter in the long run. While this is true, I cannot, however, forget that I am an individual, and there must be a reason why I have this life. This, in turn, leads to the second option: I have two pieces of knowledge. One is that I am mortal. The other is that there are things that I can achieve. The logical conclusion I draw from this is that the only plausible thing for me to do is to, as I acknowledge death, is to also acknowledge life as strongly, striking a balance between yin and yang, as it were.
As I see it, sadness and depression come with dwelling on death - the stronger my acknowledgement of death is, the stronger my life at any given moment needs to be. However, a life where I do not acknowledge my own mortality is a shallow one. The further I ignore the imminence of death, the less my concern for life need be. So, with respect for that, I say that those who are most aware of their mortality also have the most potential to live a deeply meaningful and therefore happy life.
It is true, however, that I am a relatively morbid person at the moment - the years I spent depressed have not been without impact. I do not fear death, but I fear sinking into that self-destructive cycle of anti-depressants and self-loathing again. It's like a heavy burden that makes me question my own actions at every stage, inhibiting me from the spontaneity and rashness that I was formerly charachterised by... but I think it's a fear that is slowly releasing it's icy clasp on my heart... perhaps in a few years, I can smile without a shadow of sadness lingering in my eyes.
It's interesting that such features - most of all the lighthearted part - can really morph over time. I mean, I've been surprised, in the past few years, to encounter numerous instances where people have been telling me to lighten up and chill out... so far no comments on energy or positiveness, but I wonder if they are far down the road?
Today during a drama seminar, we were presented with three different settings for a possible revenge... my colleagues picked the obvious one - the dark alleyway, whereas I found that way too obvious and opted for the sunny field, embellishing it with a corpse rotting in the fields of hay, being pecked away at by crows... There was a small stunned silence from the class, until somebody laughed and said "I think you are just a morbid thinker".
Interesting. I guess I am... I just had a discussion with a friend the other day, where we talked about death, and I stated that I really wouldn't mind too much if I were to die any moment soon. My friend retaliated that that would be selfish, not to care about my own death - as there are others around - my parents, my friends - who would inevitably be hurt by this.
But is this just a form of attachment? Should we all not be accepting of the fact that death is a part of life and that there is nothing more we can do than to face it, and face the fact that we are truly unprepared for it? I think I cannot afford to blindly go through life without acknowledging that with every step I take, death - mortality - stands beside me. That knowledge, and that kind of outlook in life - can lead to two ends. One in which I take a decidedly fatalist approach to life and achieve nothing because I will die anyhow, and nothing I do now will matter in the long run. While this is true, I cannot, however, forget that I am an individual, and there must be a reason why I have this life. This, in turn, leads to the second option: I have two pieces of knowledge. One is that I am mortal. The other is that there are things that I can achieve. The logical conclusion I draw from this is that the only plausible thing for me to do is to, as I acknowledge death, is to also acknowledge life as strongly, striking a balance between yin and yang, as it were.
As I see it, sadness and depression come with dwelling on death - the stronger my acknowledgement of death is, the stronger my life at any given moment needs to be. However, a life where I do not acknowledge my own mortality is a shallow one. The further I ignore the imminence of death, the less my concern for life need be. So, with respect for that, I say that those who are most aware of their mortality also have the most potential to live a deeply meaningful and therefore happy life.
It is true, however, that I am a relatively morbid person at the moment - the years I spent depressed have not been without impact. I do not fear death, but I fear sinking into that self-destructive cycle of anti-depressants and self-loathing again. It's like a heavy burden that makes me question my own actions at every stage, inhibiting me from the spontaneity and rashness that I was formerly charachterised by... but I think it's a fear that is slowly releasing it's icy clasp on my heart... perhaps in a few years, I can smile without a shadow of sadness lingering in my eyes.