When I read the thoughts of these men of 19th or 20th century I feel a great desire to be able to see myself facing the inevitable death full of such blissful peace that M felt. But even though I can very well say I've been happy like him, I don't think I would be capable of accepting such horrifying destiny without being crushed by endless terror. Sometimes in the night time when I listen to allah akbar thinking of the desert at night I feel strong longing and insensible restlessness, for I believe that after seeing that view I might be able to die happy. After that feeling I might be able to pinpoint my location in the universe and state that I know what I am. And yet all of a sudden I can see myself lying on the golden sand watching my life slip through my fingers. If something happened to me in the desert, I might die in front of the most beautiful sight of my life but I would nonetheless be filled with horror.
Lev Nikolajevits Myskin tells about a man sentenced to death, who splits his very last five minutes to three parts: two minutes for saying farewell to his loved ones, two minutes for thinking about himself and his life and the last minute for looking around. And I think I would stare at the sky trying to see all of the universe behind it, feel myself a part of it and be happy and thankful for my life. How can I ever leave this world?
life, the universe, time, claustrophobia, scales, joy
- terra firma
- I observe life. I seek myself. I love things. I'm getting convinced that my life will be a big existential crisis. This is about it. Everything's about it.