I no longer have a life. A life that is bound to culture and society, it is over. What remains when external forces lose their significance, what remains when there is no longer any distraction from the immediate, raw being? When each moment counts because only moments are left, raining down on me so abundantly and endlessly, beyond yesterday, today and tomorrow?
Where does it go when all destinations become meaningless? What to do when there is no longer a limit, no longer a grip, and the miracle of existence reveals itself in this ultimate vanishing? A vividness unfolding from matter that is about to burst because there is no release valve for it in the restriction of form? How does one bear the great bliss and realization of immortality in a universe that celebrates its solitude within timeless eternity?
What happens when the personal will to survive slowly evaporates and is replaced by a pure will to be alive that does not ask for significance or purpose, for no why? What happens when there is no one left to hold on to, dissolved into a vast presence that asks not for you and not for me?
What does it mean for life when its imaginary boundaries collapse and all constructs of reality are swallowed up by a black, shimmering hole?