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Our life is given to us once. It is a unique opportunity. At least in this autonomous form we will never be born again. And what do we do with it, man, instead of living it? What do we do with it? We drag it around, we kill it... Organised society, organised human relations. But if they're organised, how are they relationships? Relationship means meeting, it means surprise, it means giving birth to feelings.
So, with this fucking invention called the clock, we squeeze in our hours and our days as if they were a burden, and they are a burden because we don't live, you see? We're always looking at the clock, for this hour to go, for this day to go, for tomorrow to come, and again, and again, and again.
We divide the day into moments, into dead hours that we bury inside ourselves, in the caves of our being, the caves where the freedom of desire is born, and we bury them with all kinds of shit and garbage that they pass on to us as "values", as "needs", as "morals", as "civilisation".
We have turned our bodies into a huge cemetery of murdered desires and aspirations, leaving behind the most important, the most essential things, like playing and chatting with children and animals, with flowers and trees, playing and enjoying each other, making love, enjoying nature, the beauties of the human hand and mind, tenderly going down into ourselves, getting to know ourselves and our neighbors..
Everything we leave for that tomorrow that will never come...
Only when a loved one dies do we hurt, because we usually think that we wanted to tell them so many important things, like how much we loved them, how important they were to us...
But we left it for tomorrow...
After the sun rises, the sun sets, and we go nowhere but towards death, and instead of crying at dusk because another day of our life has been lost, we rejoice.
Do you know why? Because our day is filled with suffering, instead of being an adventure, a collision with the limits of our freedom. We have reduced it to a day without any hope of resurrection, to death, because that is death...
death is fiat fiction, a state of not-being by decree. most people are even brain-dead while walking and talking.
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Social pressure inhibits us from our children. We no longer live, we survive
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I totally agree with you, my friend. We often forget that life is so ephemeral, so short, and that we live it with inertia, often without meaning. Thank you for sharing your vision of life and making us reflect. Let us never stop living with the illusion and magic that children have, who enjoy every moment, every day, as if it were the last.
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Who defines death? A lot defines life.
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