How does each of our stories end? Is there a pattern to it? When does it end? Why does it end? Will the end make any sense to the process?

 

The purpose of life is obscure. Like the lives depicted in art and literature, it is not complete. It doesn’t have a proper plot.  No concrete beginning nor middle nor end. We think of life as never ending one. It just goes on. Perhaps it does. The survivor faces the void post the dear one’s demise. Death is a curse for those who live henceforth. If there be no purpose of life, what motivates us to perform our duties to the best of our abilities and pursue our endeavors with all our mettle.

The way life works is unpredictable and incomprehensible. May be there should be a rationale to it, just that human mind is unable to wrap its head around. There should be a reason for how things works in here.

Are we really aware that our lives are fragile?

It could have easily been any other day, yet another errand. A person's routine  to fetch dry clothes from terrace, to check the water level of the tank or to fetch something from a near by shop but some strange turn of events might have costed that person's life.

It could have been a near death experience like  cancer, blood clot, coma or a minor escape from  a tragic accident. But the life would have been miraculously saved.

They say it is all about time. so we are puppets in hands of god/time?   How do we convince ourselves of the ifs and buts after a mishap. We are tiny little rattle in someone’s masterplan.

Like Shakespeare’s perception of life, we truly are characters in a play staging ourselves with our own entry and exit. 

           All the world’s a stage,

          And all the men and women merely players;

           They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;

His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

The knowledge of the temporariness in the world is a boon or bane? 

   

    Billie Eilish, 21 year old American singer-song writer has told in one of her   interviews about the comfort that the temporariness of life offers her.  

    "The fact that i am gonna die one day and that everyone around me is gonna die and no one will remember me after a certain point, makes me feel so good.  Because i could do the best thing in the world and nobody would remember it ever and i will die, it won't matter. Every one else around me will die and that wont matter or i could do the worst thing in the world  and that won't matter because i will die eventually, you don't really have to worry that much". 

      

  Does the end add  significance to the process? 

  

I believe the essential understanding of an individual's life is perception based. It can tune in and fit in to the enormous definitions and justification we make for the nature of life. 

 https://youtu.be/cVo75qAYi7k