Tell me what to say so that my words may live through eternity and meet with the wearied architect of time. Tell me what to do so that my actions will not be chafed into obscurity by winding winds of the world. Tell me the secret to immortality.

Everything in this world seems to be of a temporal value. It is value formed by the nourishing breath of our consciousness. We are who breathe a world into the mountains of dust. It thus follows that when our consciousness should fail at the climax of some malicious illness, the value is lost and the world returns to meaningless dust. Whatever I have done in this bracket of consciousness shall then return to the void from which it was birthed. Still more frightening is that we shall never be able to recall from that infinite nothingness what has passed before, what full lives we have led, what beauty we have discovered, and not even from a nostalgic reminiscence will we be allowed to find comfort and delight.

It seems then that nothing is truly worth pursuing in this short span of mortality. But immortality; immortality lets us follow time to its death. Where human death marks the end of a sentence, the death of time marks the end of the essay. Beyond time’s passing lies nothing, not even a vacuum. It is without description, and in attempting to describe its obscurity, the description is immediately made erroneous. Only when time itself submits to non-existence, when I know with utmost certainty that there can exist nothing beyond – only then will I contend that I have done all in my power, and with all that the universe has provided me, to realize true value in everything. And only then shall I have succeeded, even in failure, since my failure would imply that there is no conceivable solution to success and that all success depends solely on discovering every form of failure.


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