The state of nothingness

There are moments when I am at ease with death. Not to claim what death is, but the death I fear—its most bleak depiction—would be complete nothingness.

In these moments, I can see an error in my imaginings of death, which is in viewing death as a passing nothingness. Specifically, the passing of time in nothingness. An arm, outstretched, from a void toward what once was. To be in nothingness. I have only ever been; I can’t fathom not being, even in death. I can see the obvious foolishness here, but it doesn’t remove the fact that in my deepest terror, this is the state I fear. Death as a state. Nothingness as a state.

In these moments, I can suspend those imaginings and see that in this most bleak depiction, all I will ever know is being. I will not know being in a void. This fear of death becomes laughable. Why fear a state I will never know?

If I’m honest, in some moments, I may surrender to an idiotic hope in an eternal return or maybe that I’ll be reincarnated as a tortoise. I haven’t resorted to heaven or hell yet, but there’s still time. But even in those moments, I’m under no illusion that what I am now will persist. It remains that all I will ever know—it seems—is this. That can, and dare I say, should be a beautiful thing. I am alive in this life that I cherish and I will never know its loss.