Lies of life - Time
What will happen after our death? Another time era? Another beginning? The end of times?
These are some of the main philosophical questions I think.
I have no answers so far, just some hopes and thoughts.
I hope I will have some time left on earth. I consider life to be a gift. Like a glass of potion that we can drink or pour out and waste. I'd like to drain to the dregs. But even if life is over tommorow I hope I could look back without anger and regret. Death is not to be considered bad, if a good life has preceded. That's my opinion.
I had time enough to marry and get a baby, I had a lot of time to love. Love is the main reason of life in my judgement. What else could be worth more? Do not tell me it's money, cars, intoxication or anything like this. If you'd like to tell me this, give me a reason. I'm going to listen.
I like to divide the year in several parts. There are some buoys who show me the way. Holidays, red-letter days, festivals, birthdays. Right now I'm looking forward to Carnival, where I will visit my sister in Cologne. You got to stand still sometimes and review. Make new plans. Then carry on.
Without checkpoints we would drift along and lose our way. That's one reason why I hate the discussion to wipe out even more public holidays. That's dangerous in my eyes.
What will happen, when our time runs out. Will there be a place like Nangijala, where is still the time of campfires and legends and one adventure after the other takes place. That's what Astrid Lindgren tells us in her brilliant novel "the brothers Lionheart". If you die there, another place will be there for you. Somehow comforting, but on the other hand like a neverending story.
My grandpa Heinrich liked the idea that it's over when it's over. He wanted to be left in peace and didn't like the idea of reincarnation. Maybe that's what I tend to as well, but I have to admit that I'm not sure. Could be safety thinking, because it's courageous to believe in an absolute end of existence. A poem of my grandpa deals with death. Here it comes:
Im Lauf der Jahre wurde ich
ein dürres Blatt am Lebensbaum,
doch hab ich immer noch die Kraft,
zum losen Hang an meinem Zweig.
Behagt es mir wenn in der Früh
die Morgensonne scheint und mich erwärmt.
Die letzte Schwalbe mich umkreist,
nach Süden schon zum Flug bereit.
Ein Windhauch und mein Fall,