The Same Old Worse
Is there really something to celebrate?
“Happy New Year and heaven at the end of your life’s journey!”
To celebrate New Year’s Day is to celebrate death – one more year on the road leading to it, with heaven as a possible getaway gift. But is there really something to celebrate?
Come on! Let us stop telling fairy tales and pretending that life is great. Life is horrible! We can choose between war, rape, prostitution, slavery… or suicide. We are doomed to die anyway, so why not hasten the moment and lessen the suffering? Stop celebrating weddings, a mere commercial exchange between sex and security, gift-wrapped in a double life of sacrifice. Stop acclaiming births and babies, the arrival of a new slave in the banksters’ livestock. Stop celebrating anniversaries, one step closer to the grave. Stop pretending that life is not that bad after all, and that it deserves to be enjoyed. Stop romanticising the same old misery!
To drown our sorrow, we fill our lives with dizzying activities. Children contribute to a large extent to this escape. They steal away our freedom, sleep, energy, money, time, intimacy, and dreams. In return, we give them our despair and, as an ultimate proof of our love, a divorce with joint custody.
If we have any strength left, we use it to escape from our daily hell. We have a large array of escape routes to freeze our senses. There are as many as there are individuals. Here are some popular choices: work, alcohol, legal and illegal drugs, sex, travel, sport, shows, movies, games,… anything to distract me so that I cannot feel the profound anguish that fills every second of my life.
Despite this preventive vigilance, burnout preys on innumerable victims. Phew! Burnout allows me to escape for a while from stress at work and from the permanent internal war that goes on between my soul who aspires to the emancipation of my being and my ego who demands the security of my having. Who will win? The ego, of course, after the proper prescription of antidepressants, thanks to the recommendation of my doctor, an unconscious zombie. This is the only way he has learned to push clients back onto the road to so-called normality, back to the herd. He reassures his patient by saying, “It’s not your fault. You are the victim of an improper transmission of cerebral serotonin.” Our poor, depressed dupe follows the recommended dosage, becomes functional again and goes back on the road to death.
If illness is generous and old age is patient, we might get to know the ultimate phase of earthly delight – grandparenthood. This happens just when we finally believe that we have the time and money to accomplish the old dreams we had abandoned on the road to work and parenthood. But our children are overwhelmed and need our help. You see, life is not what it used to be. And here we go again! Taking care of grandchildren is another nice way to hide our internal anguish. Luckily, there is a presumed and tacit compensation to this exchange. We can now count on our own children to take care of us when the time comes.
We live in a world of illusion where lies and deceit reign as masters. It is hell on earth and its creator is called God. In reality, time does not exist and neither does death. Eternal life is already present in our cells and awaits its long-expected freedom. We do not need to die in order to know heaven. This is good news! Even if you do not believe this is possible, at least, allow yourself to wish your friends, “… and heaven WITHOUT an end to your life’s journey”. It is much more appealing!