When life comes heavy, and meaningless as we sense the imminent approaching of death, one might wonder what comes to play to decide for euthanasis. Is it the strenght or weakness of a person? Is it an unbearable intensity of one's own suffering? Isn't life per se just a battlefield where we are wound, and healed, and wound, and wound again, without healing. Suicide is basically a mental euthanasis, as I think. One suffer mentally in such a great extend, that the universe is not universal anymore, one doesn't find the roots of own identity within it. I often wonder, how people, as often seen senselessly, decide for the end of their life. We disdain it, but who is the possessor, the owner of our own physical, and mental cage? WHo? You? Who ELSE? No hands raised? But who is here to say that we euthanasis as a consequence of perceived and experienced physically, and as a result also mentally unbearable state of pain is somehow allowed. Society has decided to agree with that at least. How come that mental suffering followed by suicide is considered...no it is not even considered.. I am not here to say that when one feel mentally on the edge of bearable threshold of pain, one should end life. I am not encouraging it, but rather to say, that the way it is perceived and regarded by society is just a creation of society, and we passively take it as a social construct of ours. The is an insidious danger when regarding reality as an ultimately real phenomenon. And we are disposed by filter when regarding it. Filter created by society, culture, past experiences, history, and history again, and you too. You are also an influencing factor of my filter. This little slate of mind is one omnipotent calory, as being used and being feasted, its engine help us understand and predict the reality. And as shown above in case of suicide also misunderstanding, and toward-social-pressure-and-scoial-constructs vulnerable piece. To use it, means to shape it more and more dynamically, as a roller coaster spinns over and over, and every turn is not the previous one. (So there is nothing repeated twice, because just time makes different when it is described linguistically as previous, current, next).
To be honest, I often feel desperate, possitively, or negativelly. Yes, I really mean possitively desperate. As I stand, speachless, at the edge of a huge conundrum called LiFe. Or The Earth. Or life on the earth. We all are pretty fortunate to be able to witness: evening sky mourning. trees blooming and getting hollow. meeting the eyes. the energy around, the eminency of mother earth, and her vices.
But as we come to a closer look, we see, we all are connected by sharing the soil, the one poor witnessing garden of tears, battlefields of spiritual fights, the place of embraced beauties.
I guess, I intended to talk about euthanasis, and the right for renouncing this earthy connection. I came far far from that idea. But this is a sort of therapy for me. I write as my thoughts are popping out, forgetting some of those fighting for asserting their own words. And the same way, as every single thought is fighting for being a significant one, we fight with the earth, with life, to leave our trace, our own artwork, forgetting that the earth has a sandy quality.