My parents are getting old. I see them getting more gentler, more passive and accepting. I see their wrinkles, the gray hairs, their shrinking stature. This moves me in an inexplicable way, tugging deep at my heart, reminding me of their frailty, their mortality, the progressive physical wear as they struggle to survive this life, the same life I struggle against, that saps my own youth and vitality year after year. I see their immortal shine fade, and their imperfections multiply, and my compassion swells, filling my chest with a tender ache. Death creeps closer every day, his looming presence casting a shadow over the alacrity of their mind and movements. Soon they will be eclipsed, and soon after I too will rest in deaths shadow.

No god will save them. Not in this life, nor the after life. Can I speculate on the nature of passing on? I cannot say for sure, other than the energy inhabiting my body will cease. Whether it dissipates, or dissolves, or transfers beyond that body I do not know. It ceases, but does that vibration live on, in this world or another? What could I possible say about an other world? Nothing at all. I have only inhabited this world, imprisoned by this vessel of flesh, and the catacombs of my mind. Activity is life, and life is energy, and energy is countless the vibrations of matter, of chemical and cellular processes synchronized since our inception, vibrating in unison in utero, dancing with the vibrating bodies orbiting around us as we mature, their mass and distance influencing our life’s trajectory to varying degrees, depending on their gravity, the energy contained within them, vibrating with their own unique magnitudes of intensity.

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