Why do we mourn death and celebrate life? Surely it should be the other way around…
What is life other than a never-ending series of disappointments culminating in the final regret of a life better off having never been before slipping away into the eternal nothingness?
Was Schopenhauer not essentially correct when he identified life as that unprofitable episode interrupting the infinite nothingness of non-existence?
If being itself were to be articulated in a musical score, it would be a cacophony.
It’s not death, but dying that terrifies us; and this is so only insofar as we perceive ourselves as individuals on the horizon of existence
Dying is angst-inducing because it necessarily entails an existing Self confronting his own nothingness; it is in this sense that, one who truly exists, is also already at the same time “dying.” For only “mortals die,” and we become mortal only when be become beings-toward-death. In this sense authentic dying is a catharsis; a purgation of the excessive taint of inauthentic “fear” of death.
Death of course always takes place after the fact, and thus is never experienced by a living Self. This affords death the highest tranquility known to man. We can only anticipate, but never perceive, what it means “to be” dead; but this has never stopped us from the anticipatory alleviation and wonder of becoming reunited with all that is concrete and universal; temporal and eternal; finite and infinite.