Are you willing to lay down all you have, and have not? Willing to go; to escape the grip of life? Well of course not, no one ever wants to go. No one ever wants to let go of the hand of life. But it’s within us, as living organisms, to breathe at birth and gasp at death. We cannot escape death, and that is the very element we must accept. There is no reason hanging on to yourself; you don’t have to hold on to something that will inevitably fall through the cracks; we call it life. You are traveling through the ocean of life, picking up flowers and putting them in your hair; you are fine here and will be fine there, wherever it might be.

It is no surprise that every being is struck by chaos, where the mind refuses to let go. It drops anyone to their knees pondering. So you ask yourself; Am I willing to lay down? You’ve cried yourself to cry yourself to sleep enough times and asked f the noises, the voices keep down the ruckus, to let you be. So you lock yourself away, you don’t even let a fly buzz aimlessly. You hide yourself away because the world is so goddamn mean, worse than anyone could have ever told you. So you wish harder that your mother would have told you it was going to be this bad, that things aren’t beautiful and flowers die every year while the forests keep falling and people keep talking in your ear that it’s all right; cherish the small things.But you know better. So you lay your head down, looking at your insanity in the mirror, the sickness of you, of the world, with the wrinkles crowing at your eyes; praying to sleep.

In the darkness you see only death and the end of all ends, then you open them and you look up once more. Just for time to split an atom, you listen, you hear; nothing. And you think I am a human being, I am the most consciousness and self-preserving creature to ever live. Time has passed while the pendulum has swung and you know you are far better than the fat of the world. So you get angry, you get really angry this time; sweeping away the crumbs of your tears. And laying down your fist you start speaking of war while every voice vacates your mind and intoxicants the next self-loathing fool who doesn't know what you finally know. That you are no fool, no not you, no not yet.

In the last chapter of your life, when the bindings are being glued and the significance of you seems to stumble, you might find sorrow. But every man is set apart, set apart but still apart as one universe. And yet again, some of you might not see the last chapter of your life in passing through so much time. Men, women and children fall to death every day when their day was young, and their heart was still good. But something thick went through their bodies, a sort of pain that no one should feel; it is nothing one can always help of being free from, but all I can say to those is to keep moving. To keep fighting till perhaps the hurt goes away, but don’t give up too early. There are many whom will give up soon, who will decide that their hour is upon them, and it is their god damn human right to let go. And in the end no one should blame you, no one should curse your name because the pressure on your spine from days was too great; so you gave in and checked out early.

But you did not give up. You would never give up, and you are no coward. You simply could not fight any longer and endure it all crashing down on you; I don’t condone it, no. I rather say to those, and their families that they fought so beautifully hard and in the end they took the happiness they felt was only in their reach, the only kind that could not be hinder by this nasty world, by their brutish brain. So do not fret, for they loved you, they will always love you; in the end, they just could bare it any longer. Still, remember that you will see them soon, and they can’t wait to see your face.

“Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified.” – Alan Watts.