Why would anyone become so joyous at the realization of a limited lifespan? Why such excitement at the limit of one’s life?

Is it the magnification of purpose, the seemingly endless daily tasks now nothing more than stepping stones to the greater glory of ascension from the material to the plane of pure energy? A flash of understanding that occurs in moments of duress, now extended to an epiphany that lasts four years long, years which are now eternities in their own right. To see that ending coming is to know respite in its most basic form. No more debate over the nature of the passing. It does not matter to one who’s going to see it happen anyway.

Imagine that change, that sudden lack of pervasive consciousness that recedes into something other than what you’ve lived for such a long time. Length itself is subjective, for a single year may be immensely long to a prison inmate while eighty years fly by in an instant to the contented man.

So if this measurement is so uncertain, than how long must a passing occur for? What if the reader of these words is already in such a state, their journey magnified by the mind’s attempt to slow everything down before the final end?

But then what is the end? Are orbiting planets not semblances of atoms moving within you? Then, take that to heart, and your atoms may in themselves be planets with people who have atoms that are planets with more people who have more atoms and so on into microscopic infinity. Seen in this way upon the ultimate quietus, life is simply a regression from one state to the next in an infinite pattern of degeneration.

But degression is a not a lack of progression. It is simply progression inwards.