You were never one to be subtle. Even when you emerged from the womb into the world, you refused to be ignored. But forget all of that; remember around what life truly revolves: Death. By far, death represents more to one’s own —your own— life than life ever can. How can you ever know that you have lived or are alive until you die? And in that death —if there nothing precipitates— how can you look back on life without still being alive, being of mind, knowing that you have died and thus, now know that death has become you? Tremble, sure, at the fear and uncertainty of no longer living, of a life stolen from you by some unknown thing that drags or catapults you from life, into death. Or remember that, perhaps death penetrates life so that you may be freed from it. Perhaps life represents the hellscape that you desperately desire to avoid. Perhaps Death, a friend, pulls longingly for your company and enriches your existence.
You came from somewhere, after all, before Life thrust you into the throes of its own torture of survival. Where were you before you joined us? Where was anyone before joining everyone else? You assume too much when you intrinsically tie an end to a beginning. If a thing begins, an end does not necessarily come thereafter. Your life began when you began living, but even you don’t know, can’t know for sure when you became alive. All you can know is what you remember or what others can remember about you, but trapped inside the hardware of body and brain, memories are unreliable. Grasp them with your mind, you do, but to know when they were remembered, that requires something else entirely, perhaps. It’s the “blind leading the blind” (as they say), these human doctors and scientists who examine human brains with their own human brains.
Where are the creatures of higher intelligence —the ones who can look at you and know at what point you started living and from where you came before Life entrapped you into your body? Who are they? Chances are you are not alone, but the chances that you will encounter those who exist and know the answers are slim. All that really matters is that you understand that you don’t matter. In the big scheme of things, your life really means nothing, for only in death can you truly know what your life meant to you, but to everyone else out there, your life does not and cannot matter to their own lives … for Death will find them also.