A Fading Existence

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

This shouldn't be a new concept to anyone. It's a cliche as old as anyone can remember, and for that reason, it often gets passed off as trivial, stupid, or common sense. Once in a while, however, I think it's important to remember that cliches are around for a reason- they're usually true.

There are some things which we don't always have, and so we are forced to think about their impermanence. Success. A boyfriend/girlfriend. Approval.  Things like homes, money, jobs, or even more abstract concepts like freedom of speech. We are constantly bombarded with campaigns telling us to imagine life without these things, to the point where it seems as though we live in constant fear of either not being able to obtain them or losing them.

There are other things that we are around all the time, and we don't even contemplate their impermanence, as we have never had reason to suspect they could disappear. I'm talking about losing things like your family's love. Your skills. Your identity. Imagine going to sleep one evening and losing your practical knowledge- how to walk, how to talk, how to interact. Or, even worse in my opinion, imagine losing those things over time, without you even realizing it. That happens all the time to every one of us. I'm not suggesting that your parents will stop loving you tomorrow, or that you will suddenly forget what you learned yesterday in English.  But as you get older, things begin to go. First it might be your knowledge from high school physics, then your friend's birthdays, then what you had for breakfast that morning, then your family's names. All things end. Or, more accurately, all things fade.

Time is the great force-

     The absolute undoer of men;

     The steady unraveler of substance;

And no mortal can oppose its deadly pace.

Here's a soliloquy from the "immortal" Shakespeare's play, Hamlet:
   No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough and 
   likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, 
   Alexander returned into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam:
   and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop at a 
   beer-barrel?

For argument's sake, I'm not sure everything fits into this description. Take love, for example. Yes, it can end. Yes, it can fade over time. Yes, it can be impermanent. But is it not possible to love for one's whole life? I can't provide an answer for that, but it's an interesting thought.

In case you haven't been depressed enough at this point by the mortality of this world and all that's in it, here's an amazing video my friend showed me. It's an artist's interpretation of the last two movements from Messian's Quartet for the End of Time. Watching these videos is a moving experience, and I encourage you to find 20 minutes by yourself in a quiet place and watch it all at once.

Here's part 1, and part 2 is in the suggestions box: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QrGzES0UNk