living in injustice

Some die young, very young. I was reading an article written by a father grieving his 4-year-old son's death, recounting the horrific pain. Regularly (but not always - obviously), parents decry the injustice of the world, what Irvin Yalom phrases "cosmic indifference." Not that I think Yalom has hit the nail on the head, either. Admittedly, I frequently read similar stories and feel very removed or distanced from the occurrence. It personally surfaces as a rare event. And statistically speaking, it is. We have average lifespans, for instance. That is, I am supposed to live longer, older than I am now.

So now, I am to have a right to live the "average" length? It seems natural, human almost, to consider that fair; I deserve to live until...oh say 70 at least. A tragic accident or congenital disease would arise as unexpected and unfair.

But nature happens, put simply. We watch it befall animals regularly. Tragic but regularly accepted (on another day, I will address my thoughts on animals' precarious situation). So why the anger toward the cosmos, toward the transcendent, toward God? If nature favors none, and "the fit survive" (a harrowing thought, I think), at whom are we angry? Becoming enraged with a larger entity or Divine implies a pull, a sensation, or a belief in an order. Do we attack the unjust and absurdity of the universe because, in our hearts, we feel a larger presence than our own? Perhaps.

exercising death

Undergoing unique professional training, I engage in a number of exercises designed to engender self-reflection and existential growth. A month or so ago, our class did a "death exercise," which explored our thoughts and wishes in regards to our own personal passing. A horrific or senseless assignment? Not at all. On the contrary, it directly confronts the unmentionable: we all face mortality.

One of the most fascinating and burdensome aspects of the assignment surfaced when we were asked how we preferred to die. For example, there were options of "short painful" or "unexpectedly but painless" or "long and painless." Essentially, there was a polar opposite for each choice. My first instinct brought me to "long and painless" ... to know ahead of time, possess time to accomplish existential meaning because I would be aware of such an inevitable fate. Indeed, those diagnosed with cancer frequently garner an empowerment toward life and consequently live passionately.

But I am already aware of my inevitable fate. A diagnosis may simply shorten the clock (then again, maybe not, who knows). Additionally, it would bring death to the forefront of existence. Being fully cognizant of death right now, why do I need a diagnosis to live passionately? I have a diagnosis: as a human, I will die. Thus, a seemingly simple exercise wrapped my mind and spirit in tangles. Ultimately, I believe I was pulled toward an "easy" route out: no pain, and plenty of time to really dig into life. The difficulty remains in living passionately now, regardless, simply out of appreciation for being. "Life can longer be postponed"