On Immortality

Version 1.1 of 9/4/2010-3:14 a.m.

Immortality has a bittersweet taste...

When, after time, truth comes to liberate you, you understand that notions like companionship, love, compassion, passion, are always ephemeral and temporary. As such, they are illusions. An eternal realization of futility and bittersweet sorrow infuses itself into you. Everything has a meaning, and simultaneously everything loses its meaning...

I catch myself listening and looking at things I never liked. It is 7:00 am and I just stepped in from witnessing a wonderful morning. The sun is not out yet and everything is yet asleep. The sensation is lethargic throughout the whole scene. In a while, life will begin again. One more time...

And we, who were from ever, who will be for ever, we watch... We watch the mornings, our friends, life, the very process of it. We observe our surroundings, with a sensation of sweet abandonment and beauty which will forever have no parallel. And inside a single moment, time loses itself, the day becomes like the thousands of days, like a single sand speck on a golden beach...

At last, your image has imprinted itself in my mind. Yesterday I dreamt of you for the first time in years. My love. How beautiful you were! You waved to me conventionally and you introduced a friend. Then, you walked down the stairs of the big peasant house with the colorful rags and you left, saying you would come again sometime in the future. I felt happy, because you were happy, but mainly because I saw you again. Then, an old acquaintance from grade school, came and kept me company...

Forms are transient... They change... What we like also changes... What I like is also ephemeral. One thing is not ephemeral: The sensation of "forever"... of "for ever and ever". When you are eternal, even the faces of your friends change. And old friends go, and new friends arrive...

And the pain of losing an old friend, even that goes away given enough time... Even this can be cured... Even this is temporary. And I have found everything temporary except Bach's music. His music is immortal... Always, it will exist somewhere. For someone... For me, for everybody. His music is like the eternal companion that I never had...

I am listening now to a violin concerto, and my mind tries to cling to the temporary, the futile. I am trying to see through the day now and define "what is" a day. I need this reference system. And it is so beautiful! Beauty for the sake of beauty and not for anything else.

I am writing to you again, the immortal you, who has no particular face, who never had a face, but were my immortal and eternal company... It does not matter anymore if you are Mary, or Frosso, or anybody else. From within a woman's word, I can read your thoughts.

How much I remember the days we were together. Very long time ago... When we were alone and we ran in those huge green prairies and beaches of the not yet born worlds on those primitive planets, with temperatures of thousands of degrees, and we were all alone. No help, no company except you. And you told me: "Do you want us to separate again so as to make it interesting?..." And I responded: "Dare, and I will find you again!... I will always find you, no matter where you go, my love..."

In this world, his music is you. I have loved his music so much, that I chose to have my salvation be performed through you being the music and not having you as flesh. God, I miss you, I miss you so much. But I have the music. The music takes the pain of your absence away. The music IS you, my immortal beloved, my eternal company...

I am losing myself in the ephemeral again... The music travels me inside his/your soul and I forget eternity. I can't live without music. The unbearable likeness if being is so painful. Yet, with the music, I can stand it to a certain extent. Can you stand it I.? Can you my love? Yes, my sweet love, I can stand it. But it can be born only in the presence of all my weapons and knowledge. How else could one bare it? So we have reached Nietzsche 's superhuman? Have we I.? Yes, we have my love. I can bare it now...

Yet, I still wonder about the most horrible shortcoming of the superhuman. It is the desire for company. The superhuman suffers so often from loneliness. He has amassed tons of information, he has generated all the good feelings, he can stand the idea of God Himself on his very own shoulders like Atlas, yet he cannot get used to the loneliness. No, it's not empathy for the fellow like Nietzsche describes. It is the loneliness. That impenetrable boundary that separates the eternal ones from the mortal ones. Yet, the superhuman has to even learn that as well. He has to learn to love even loneliness, because thus, he transcends even the state of the superhuman.

You idealize an illusion, you will say. There is no such thing as immortality. Oh, but there is, my dear beloved. There is. There is immortality of the mind. EVERYTHING is an illusion viewed vis-a-vis the eternal mind. And how could the superhuman come to terms with this view if he did not have something to hold on to, something tangible every time he traveled inside finite worlds? Wouldn't he need an anchor, a port, which to hold on to tightly? Yet, even this anchor is available for the superhuman. Thank God, there IS an anchor.

But then, you will say, even this immortal love you reflect on me is an illusion, dear. Of course it is. You think I don't know? You think I don't really know there is nobody really out there? Because this love of mine, is simultaneously all of you, broken down into billions of pieces, that sometimes exist, other times not. God, I am going mad! Now? It's too late. You ARE already mad my friend.

My sweet immortal beloved! How many times I have seeked you and have not found you. How much I love you. How much I still love you, despite the bittersweet sensation of the "forever" and the gap that separates us.

Are you really out there? Is there ANYBODY out there after all?

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