thread: 2006-09-08 : Salvation, damnation, justification, a la Sydney
On 2006-09-11, Vincent wrote:
Everything I love will be dirt, someday soon. That doesn't mean I don't love it. I love it all, with all my heart.
My dad died. He's just now starting to turn to dirt; I can show you the place. They didn't embalm him so he really is turning to dirt already. I love him still. I'll keep his memory until I die, but someday soon there won't be anyone left anywhere who remembers him. He designed buildings; I suppose that his name will last as long as his buildings do. Someday soon they'll all fall, though, and then they'll be dirt too, and no one will ever say or read or think of his name, ever again.
Does it bother me that he's not immortal? No. It makes me sad that I can't call him on the phone and talk to him, but I only care about that now, while I'm alive. Pretty soon, I won't care about that anymore, or anything else either. I'll be dirt! What's dirt got to care about?
While I'm alive, I love. When no trace of me is left anywhere in the universe, nevertheless, when I was alive, I loved.
