Religion. Death. Life. Meaning.
I'm struggling.
Supposedly I have time to come to terms with it, but I could die tomorrow.
Grandpa's body no longer exists. Just his memory. Did he go to heaven? Has he met the God? Or what if he was sentenced to hell because God really isn't that forgiving of a guy?
Or what if there is really nothing and grandpa was just met with black and now he will forever be in the ground. Waiting to turn back into nature. Food for the plants. Plant food.
That sounds terrible, but this is all my mind can settle on lately.
What is the point?
The point is the moment. That's all we can live for is now. Right now.
I do know that grandpa took advantage of the moments though. The people that came out to celebrate his life and mourn his death. They were so many. It was touching.
I just really don't want to die. I'm never going to be ready.
Fuck this higher cognitive ability. It is robbing me of my contented now-ness.
Gun point retrieval of any future happiness that is being sucked dry in the NOW. And I'm prisoner to far off shackles of those deathly hollows harrowing narrow divets into the crevices of my thought process until I am numb to the immediate tangent of any possible happiness. Now perusing the past and locked up in the future.
Sutured...
I need to write that book.
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