He was probably my age, but what stood out in his case - was his immense passion for life. Its not a common quality, no matter how plebian it sounds to you.
What shook me - was not another death of a close person (or once close person), but instead what rattled my core is how meaningless life can seem in these times.
Our dearest ones are usually estranged. At least for me they are. I could die today of a strike in the next 5 mins, and all the passion, intelligence, the million lines of ideas that I have in my head...all gone kaput in the next 5 mins.
The desolation of that possibility hurts my fragile ego....my fragile (and wrong headed) point that my life, my existence, must definitely mean something. To someone. Somewhere.
RIP for a friend. Though RIP means nothing in Buddhist context. A Buddhist believes there are real struggles post death too.
Is life truly non-dual as all my teachers have always taught me. Then why do I feel singular?
Why does it hurt so immensely on the death of someone whom I respected and admired?
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