A Decay of Flower
Why is that living forms decay and finally die?
The living --bee, cell, plant, mammal, fish-- experience, rather involuntarily, but sure with desire, a peak, a boost of life. When each and every cells of theirs is in an unquestionable harmony of beautifulness, freshness and augmentation. But none --nor worms, nor butterflies, nor flowers, nor man-- survive. They get to this point , enjoying being at their full physical potential, but eventually begin to decay, to die out, with no exceptions --not yet.
Once I was looking at a fossil of old ages, and imagining the living forest of then, say, in 430 million years BP on the Earth, I couldn't help asking myself about the inevitability of my death, and everybody's. How many times to go over the family albums, trying to recognise the young face of those who passed? Whatever --it just takes a flower to understand everything of life will die.
If it sounds terrible, terrible is being regretful of deeds --and what time afflicts?-- All in all it is too complex a situation to include or exclude rules of when to be regretful, excited or content. But the inevitability of death, in no reasonable manner, follows coming up with stories of heavens and gods --or vampires for that matter.
Someone someday may present a gift, bringing technology to reverse the inclination of death towards next generations of man. Until then I have no other choice but to accept the way nature has laid for the single time fate doesn't bear exemptions. Later let's let our imagination go wild about when we could possibly live indefinitely. Till then I know I won't go further than eigthy, ninety or at most around a hundred. It is not that life is short. It is that my period of life is specific.
That physical peak passed is sad. Whatever --it just takes a flower to notice that.
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The living --bee, cell, plant, mammal, fish-- experience, rather involuntarily, but sure with desire, a peak, a boost of life. When each and every cells of theirs is in an unquestionable harmony of beautifulness, freshness and augmentation. But none --nor worms, nor butterflies, nor flowers, nor man-- survive. They get to this point , enjoying being at their full physical potential, but eventually begin to decay, to die out, with no exceptions --not yet.
Once I was looking at a fossil of old ages, and imagining the living forest of then, say, in 430 million years BP on the Earth, I couldn't help asking myself about the inevitability of my death, and everybody's. How many times to go over the family albums, trying to recognise the young face of those who passed? Whatever --it just takes a flower to understand everything of life will die.
If it sounds terrible, terrible is being regretful of deeds --and what time afflicts?-- All in all it is too complex a situation to include or exclude rules of when to be regretful, excited or content. But the inevitability of death, in no reasonable manner, follows coming up with stories of heavens and gods --or vampires for that matter.
Someone someday may present a gift, bringing technology to reverse the inclination of death towards next generations of man. Until then I have no other choice but to accept the way nature has laid for the single time fate doesn't bear exemptions. Later let's let our imagination go wild about when we could possibly live indefinitely. Till then I know I won't go further than eigthy, ninety or at most around a hundred. It is not that life is short. It is that my period of life is specific.
That physical peak passed is sad. Whatever --it just takes a flower to notice that.
