Why preparing for death is important?

We dismiss death as if it does not exist; theories to live life are many but to embrace death are negotiable.  The day we are born, we see life and subsume it. Everything it beholds; paraphernalia of happiness, glory, perfidies, unrealistic temptations and unchaperoned insecurities, almost everything becomes a sine qui non to lead life. We still live, every breadth, an anatomical clout with no miscalculated emissions, giving a final blow to grasp the Machiavellian death. 

Are we ever ready for death? Presumably ‘No’; we don’t want to be, anyways who wants to bite the dust when an acclaimed license to live life is proffered at our table every day? ‘Death will eventually come, but life is short, live it’, a staccato played by the luminous morality of the mind trying to be judgmental on the immorality crusade. In this short life, we try really hard to live but fail to recognize that though imperceptibly, we are moving towards death. The fact that we choose to find solace when subjected to the trajectories of our bedeviled emotions and conspicuously lock our mind proves that a final closure needs to be peaceful, away from the ephemeral pantomimes and scourges. 

Lying in the wealth of happiness, far away from our turbulent existence is a bullish storm that sees no apparent day or season to pull us away from the ironical subtleties we live by. A toddler playing insouciantly in the middle of the road stuck by screech of a car blown to death in a blink of an eye describes the fallacy that any charm is not long-lived; the breath violates every norm to detangle itself from the clutches it is supposed to hold for a defined period. 

Who has the reason and power to defy the paradoxical death? It swears by its imperfection to create a perfect timing to tide away our longing, unfulfilled dreams, the crest of happiness and the symphony of the flute that did not stuck the right chord. Our obliviousness to what is left behind is how death surfaces life to be the greatest disillusionment.  

Death does come without knocking. So how do we prepare for it? Though we do frivolous stuff to ward it off like visit to the soothsayers or keeping ‘havans’ or arguably make health a temporal feast to gorge on by purging in a series of multi-vitamins and syringes to have the optimal perfect body; the perishable body, once smitten to the dust of the feet would be incontrovertible and inconclusive.         

Mechanically, we prepare for death everyday—ridiculing it or boasting about how selfishly it consumes the prey. But, we lack to understand that assimilating life without the inherent urge to covet is a plausible road to enriched living and an unknowing pilgrimage to death. How often we practice this? The inclination to possess is more than the service of giving. In the obsession to not let go the things that make us in futility, we submerge in it. When the time comes to leave the abode, the trap of death webs us alone. We keep looking back but the pot-pourri we assembled is somebody else’s pizzicato.  

So, do we stop buying or being socially acceptable? Do we not crave for the illustrious propositions and be a dead-pan peanut ready to be roasted? Or, a matter of fact rebuke the age of dominance to be supplanted by a meditative posture siphoning a clarion call to the jury that sits erect in the heavens, ‘We belong but with no belongings. We are ready. You can come to flight us off any time.’  Wrong appeal! Death will come when the clock binges on the soul that now needs to be replenished.

We indulge, life is beautiful but we don’t make it a necessity that overpowers our will to be defiant. Letting go is the most difficult emotion as it’s not the puff of wind that’s leaves no trace behind. We make stories but our protagonist is our essence of seeing the present in the most appreciative way; inspiring the self to be content in the given perplexities of life that holds a formidable dominion to let go what does not belong to us. What’s belongs will also fade away. 

We are not creating, remember! We are not sustaining either. What as humans we are doing is just enjoying the assemblages? If we make it a lasting love affair, who are we to blame? 

As the curtains fall, the soul too does not remain ours. It looks for another body. When we live without bondage, we are preparing ourselves for the indelible end. 

Life is full of experiences; death is the fantasy nobody talks about. Life ends, experiences buried… what is left is the naked body in nobility.



Views expressed above are the author’s own.


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