Sometimes I dream that I’m talking to my mom and all of a sudden I realize that she didn’t die, that it’s all been some kind of terrible mistake. When I wake up I go through a brief process of sorrow all over again. Surely, there’s a part of me that wants to believe in life after death, I like to believe that her personality, her soul, all I loved so much about her, is really and truly still alive in some other place. Even if I have some doubts on whether there’s any testable proof of it, it doesn’t matter, this is just about humans being human.
When I look deeper, I actually find that the human brain (specially the intellect) is defined by the world “around us”…the people we hang out with, the language we speak, the clothing that we wear, “the uniforms” have resonance within our own innermost feelings and beliefs. The same kind of self annihilation, perhaps, falls in the habit of doing “small”, thinking “small”, loving “small”, if not with all strictness, at least under the imitatively unconscious tribal and social routines, validating our assumptions by our conclusions, in a circle. The truth is, what we know about life is so vague and subjective… we don’t even know what the good news is, and what the bad news is. Beyond our vulnerability and our limited biology, education to personality and ethic necessitation must be an obligation.