I picture an object, light as a feather, dragged idly down by gravity's pull. It flits through the air at the whims of the wind, with no apparent agency, yet as it makes contact with the ground it shatters violently, its finitude made apparent, its pieces unrecognizable from their previous form.
How confusing.
This object is made such an anomaly because we cannot possibly imagine its end by its being. Why has our understanding found a supposedly rational relation between existence and end, these two forces which are the fundamental, incommensurable, states of being. We attempt in vain to find comfort in our end by imagining it is related to our life. This understanding is nothing but an inherited, scientific metaphysics born of apathy and fear. As it stands we so often see souls racing to their fiery destruction, their intensity in life makes inevitable an explosive end. They cannot be called fragile by any means, for they are able to withstand more than we can imagine, intensity in existence begets intensity in ends. We see too, those who drift through life calmly, eventually reaching peace, never truly fearing it, for it is all but a terrifying event.
Imagine then, a life, one that ends in spite for having lived, one that seems plagued with the fear of the finitude of existence, one that believes death is a horrible and fearful end, is this life not one that can be joyful? Our inherited understanding clearly contradicts this possibility, for the end is entirely detached from its being. In this belief, our understanding unjustly limits our experience of reality. Inherent human desire, and thus the capacity for honest experience, must not be limited by this misguided sense of understanding, for it is fundamentally irrational. The pursuit of making a complete picture, a logical picture, a necessary connection, is ultimately at odds with human experience. To live honestly is to be irrational, be not limited by these restrictive and inherited values.