“Life, one is the dinner; the other is the meal.” DLJ
Feeling dissociated, isolated in a life sense. Like the owl eating the petral, both are not reflecting, but simply doing. One, whose head and neck is being chomped in death with the few seconds of nothing arriving in the dying, the other relaxed and content in its feasting.
No other meaning than eating and being eaten.
No love here. No dreaming or comfort in the moments success, in the ending, in feeding for life with the emptiness of the death of the other.
No wonder belief is a sanctuary to the death of self, something not even known to the dead.
Belief is for the consolation of helplessness, of the hopeless self. The biology and the created dream meet to fill the emptiness of death.
She couldn’t let herself hear anything that would alter the dream of meaning after death. She held herself in delusion to keep the truth of her sense of nothing hidden from her soul. She senses this truth but cannot allow it to be seen in a living reflection of herself.
So what do I have to say? What do I know that would bring solace to awareness of this deeper sense of death’s ambivalence? Am I just disturbing the peace without providing answers to support her living? This is something she should answer without my intrusion. And yet isn’t knowledge of value?