I frequently think about death.
I'm certain in today's world of psychoanalysis frequent thoughts on death earn me at least one check mark in one box on the psych-evaluation form.
Really, I don't dwell on it though. It's more like a math problem.
I think about the moment of death, what will be going through my head, what regret, what fear, loss or what wonder. This thought is comforting, in that it pushes me to truly enjoy each and every sight of my children doing anything at all, any simple task, or even crying, fussing or fighting.
I am...just in the knowledge that they ever were.
I often argue with my body. Does it truly feel it must die.
Unfortunately, it usually answers yes.
Through clicks, and pinching, and worn joints.
It affirms my eventual departure.
And other times, when it feels nice, I recognize the lie in it.
That punctuation of life, the surety of ceasing, is God's insurance.
No aspect, save the center shall ever sit in that seat of omniscient power. No mind shall ever be not started and finished. The soul shall always be.
Life is a goal, suffering, loving, leaving, eating, shitting, drinking, laughing, longing and loss.
Life is one goal.
Full of its power to end.
Never underestimate the ability of Man to conflagrate in the face of adversity.
After all, pondering is a luxury.