Mortis Veritas
I searched for a figure of the cumulative population of the Earth in order to augment this entry. According to one estimate, the total cumulative human population has been 96 trillion people.
Even though this is a very rough guess, let's run with it. The industry of the world is the result of 96 trillion lives. Life comes in unending variation; each of those 96 trillion people had a completely individual life, unlike every other. 96 trillion snowflakes.
The spectrum of all humankind has two metaphysical commonalities; each human was born, and each human will die. All else is variation. As Shakespeare says, we are born to die.
Since death is universal, it's everywhere and nowhere in our culture. Many people make extensive plans for it, but it still retains the aura of a taboo, best mentioned in passing and forgotten. Few people look forward to the end of our term.
Research says that by the time the average U.S. child starts elementary school, he or she will have seen 8,000 murders and 100,00 acts of violence on TV. That's an awful lot of death. Except that the vast majority, if not the totality, are fake. Every one is a fictitious murder on a TV show.
In Britain, a documentary is getting ready to air about a man suffering from Alzheimer's disease. The film contains the actual moment of his death, as he is being comforted by his wife. It has touched off an ideological dispute between the filmmaker, who is trying to take some of the fear out of death, and a group for television standards.
Are we ready to see real death on screen? In this case, it's not violent. The man dies, cradled in his wife's arms, with her saying "You can let go." How many thousands or hundreds of thousands of times has this occurred?
I've been trying to decide why I recoil from this broadcast idea. My logical brain says that this is nothing but the process of life. It's not explicitly exploitative or done for shock value, at least, I don't THINK so. My cool and detached logic has no issues with seeing the peaceful expiration of a life.
But the empathic center of my brain revolts! To see real death is to be forced to acknowledge it. To see real death is to invade on the privacy of what should be an intimate occasion for grief.
For years, I've been obsessed with the mythos and meaning of the Breath of Life. Breathing is the most obvious and apparent sign of life. At death, that cycle is broken. One last exhalation; the breath of life escapes.
Being close enough to hear the breath of life is an intimacy. Think of all the times of being close enough and quiet enough to hear someone else breathing. Every time that comes to mind in my experience is a moment of serious closeness (not just physical proximity).
That's why I'm sure that I don't need to see it on TV. I don't think anyone should. The moment of death changes the world, because of the loss of a single person. Doesn't it seem strange, after the deaths of 96 trillion others, to still be concerned about the death of one? Not strange at all. That one person will never again effect the world, except by phantom proxy through books or memories.
Death should be communicated, I'm certain; it often moves through conversation or hometown obituaries. But the actual experience of the death -- the loss of the breath -- never needs to be available to the masses.
Most of us do feel trepidation towards death. But seeing someone with no emotional connection to you die is not the way to alleviate the fear. Some things just can't be learned from watching TV.
Even though this is a very rough guess, let's run with it. The industry of the world is the result of 96 trillion lives. Life comes in unending variation; each of those 96 trillion people had a completely individual life, unlike every other. 96 trillion snowflakes.
The spectrum of all humankind has two metaphysical commonalities; each human was born, and each human will die. All else is variation. As Shakespeare says, we are born to die.
Since death is universal, it's everywhere and nowhere in our culture. Many people make extensive plans for it, but it still retains the aura of a taboo, best mentioned in passing and forgotten. Few people look forward to the end of our term.
Research says that by the time the average U.S. child starts elementary school, he or she will have seen 8,000 murders and 100,00 acts of violence on TV. That's an awful lot of death. Except that the vast majority, if not the totality, are fake. Every one is a fictitious murder on a TV show.
In Britain, a documentary is getting ready to air about a man suffering from Alzheimer's disease. The film contains the actual moment of his death, as he is being comforted by his wife. It has touched off an ideological dispute between the filmmaker, who is trying to take some of the fear out of death, and a group for television standards.
Are we ready to see real death on screen? In this case, it's not violent. The man dies, cradled in his wife's arms, with her saying "You can let go." How many thousands or hundreds of thousands of times has this occurred?
I've been trying to decide why I recoil from this broadcast idea. My logical brain says that this is nothing but the process of life. It's not explicitly exploitative or done for shock value, at least, I don't THINK so. My cool and detached logic has no issues with seeing the peaceful expiration of a life.
But the empathic center of my brain revolts! To see real death is to be forced to acknowledge it. To see real death is to invade on the privacy of what should be an intimate occasion for grief.
For years, I've been obsessed with the mythos and meaning of the Breath of Life. Breathing is the most obvious and apparent sign of life. At death, that cycle is broken. One last exhalation; the breath of life escapes.
Being close enough to hear the breath of life is an intimacy. Think of all the times of being close enough and quiet enough to hear someone else breathing. Every time that comes to mind in my experience is a moment of serious closeness (not just physical proximity).
That's why I'm sure that I don't need to see it on TV. I don't think anyone should. The moment of death changes the world, because of the loss of a single person. Doesn't it seem strange, after the deaths of 96 trillion others, to still be concerned about the death of one? Not strange at all. That one person will never again effect the world, except by phantom proxy through books or memories.
Death should be communicated, I'm certain; it often moves through conversation or hometown obituaries. But the actual experience of the death -- the loss of the breath -- never needs to be available to the masses.
Most of us do feel trepidation towards death. But seeing someone with no emotional connection to you die is not the way to alleviate the fear. Some things just can't be learned from watching TV.
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