"We Are All Going To Die!"

"We Are All Going To Die!"
by Cognitive Dissonance

"This one is short and sweet folks. The subject alone could fill several books, so I decided to keep it contained to just a few... OK, five pages. With that in mind, I present the basic outline and ask you to let your imagination be your guide. One word of advice; if you find yourself triggered and defending not discussing or thinking about this subject (or screaming at me that you do) you just might be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

I would call us humans silly if our behavior wasn’t so dangerously neurotic. The same can be said about death and dying. If there is one thing we know with absolute certainty, it is that at some point we are all going to die. While the where and when may always be in question, there is no ‘if’ about actually dying.

--abbreviated for space--

We are all going to die. Get over it. Embrace it as part of the journey. Examine it for all it is and isn’t. And accept it, thereby removing the fear and rendering it impotent. This way we can move on towards a more glorious endeavor, that of fully living life rather than simply waiting ‘round to die.”
- http://www.zerohedge.com/

"Thanatopsis"
Meaning 'a consideration of death,'
the word is derived from the Greek 'thanatos' and 'opsis'.

THANATOPSIS

by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.



2 Cor 5:5 " Now He who prepared us for this very purpose is God, who gave to us the Holy Spirit as a pledge.
6 Therefore, being always of good courage, and knowing that while we are at home in the body we are absent from the Lord
7 for we walk by faith, not by sight —
8 we are of good courage, I say, and prefer rather to be absent from the body and to be at home with the Lord."

It is in the eye of the beholder. Solomon managed to convey just that in "Ecclesiastes."

This has been my favorite poem since I first read it in my early teens. Being a Christian, I had read the complete Bible through before ever encountering this poem, so I did not entertain any concept of "Gaia," i.e., worship of the earth deified as a goddess. "Gaia" is an idol, from the imagination of man, and therefore lacking reality, is unworthy of consideration.

William Cullen Bryant's poetry has been described as being "of a thoughtful, meditative character, which has but slight appeal to the mass of readers." (Alexander K. McClure, ed. (1902) Famous American Statesmen and Orators, VI NY, F.F. Lowell Publishing Co., Pg 62), so I am in no way surprised at your failure to appreciate it.

In 1860, he was one of the prime Eastern exponents of Abraham Lincoln, whom he introduced at Cooper Union. That "Cooper Union speech," it was said, lifted Lincoln to the nomination, and then the presidency.

It is the accuracy of his description of the grandeur of the beauty of God's creation, especially in the peaceful solitude to be found in the forest that I find so appealing, having lived for years on the edge of a forest which extends for miles.

Think of the words of Solomon in "Ecclesiastes," which I find Thanatopsis reminiscent of in mood. Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived, yet, at one point in his life, he described the futility of life as meaningless.

Ecclesiastes 1:

1 The words of the Teacher, a son of David, king in Jerusalem:

2
“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless.”

3
What do people gain from all their labors
at which they toil under the sun?
4
Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever..."

Does the initial "doom and gloom" expressed by this poem's author mean we should rip it from the Bible?

In Ecclesiastes 12th and final chapter, Solomon found meaning:

1 "Remember your Creator

Remember him—before the silver cord is severed,
and the golden bowl is broken;
before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
and the wheel broken at the well,
7
and the dust returns to the ground it came from,
and the spirit returns to God who gave it."

Everyone reacts to a poem with the sum total of their being, which encompasses life experiences, spiritual beliefs and the depth of their capacity for understanding what the author is attempting to convey.

William Cullen Bryant (November 3, 1794 – June 12, 1878) was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post.

Bryant was born on November 3, 1794, in a log cabin near Cummington, Massachusetts, the second son of Peter Bryant, a doctor and later a state legislator, and Sarah Snell. The genealogies of both of his parents trace back to passengers on the Mayflower; his mother's to John Alden (d. 1687); his father's to Francis Cooke (d. 1663).

He was admitted to the bar in 1815, at the age of 21, and began practicing law in nearby Plainfield, walking the seven miles from Cummington every day. On one of these walks, in December 1815, he noticed a single bird flying on the horizon; the sight moved him enough to write "To a Waterfowl".

"Thanatopsis" is Bryant's most famous poem, which he began composing in 1811, at the age of 17. In 1817 his father took some pages of verse from his son's desk, and submitted them to the North American Review.

His recognition as America's leading poet occurred in 1832, when an expanded version of his Poems was published in the U.S. and, with the assistance of Washington Irving, in Britain.

He is also remembered as a hymnist for the Unitarian Church, a legacy of his father's enormous influence on him.

That is to be deeply regretted, as the officiating individual at the only service I ever attended at a Unitarian Church announced they would now have a prayer to "whatever is out there," however, I have no knowledge of his spiritual standing at his death.

May I suggest you read the poem again, as if for the first time?

I have re-read the poem and this stanza in particular grates. I do not shudder and grow sick at heart, instead I regard this as a release from sorrow, pain and misfortune, a welcome respite before beginning a new life

When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--

Succinctly: Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust
'Ashes to ashes' derives from the English Burial Service. The text of that service is adapted from the Biblical text, Genesis 3:19 (King James Version:

In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken: for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.

In addition to my previous objections I find this poem trite as well, these sentiments have been expressed in many ways as in this Hymn.

Work, for the Day is coming,
Day in the Word foretold,
When, ’mid the scenes triumphant,
Longed for by saints of old,
He, who on earth a stranger
Traversed its paths of pain,
Jesus, the Prince, the Savior,
Comes evermore to reign.

Work, for the Day is coming,
Darkness will soon be gone;
Then o’er the night of weeping
Day without end shall dawn.
What now we sow in sadness
Then we shall reap in joy;
Hope will be changed to gladness,
Praise be our blest employ.

Work, for the Day is coming,
Made for the saints of light;
Off with the garments dreary,
On with the armor bright:
Soon will the strife be ended,
Soon all our toils below;
Not to the dark we’re tending,
But to the Day we go.

Work, for the Lord is coming,
Children of light are we;
From Jesus’ bright appearing
Powers of darkness flee.
Out of the mist, at His bidding,
Souls like the dew are born:
O’er all the East are spreading
Tints of the rosy morn.

Work, then, the Day is coming,
No time for sighing now;
Prize for the race awaits thee,
Wreaths for the victor’s brow.
Now morning Light is breaking,
Soon will the Day appear;
Night shades appall no longer,
Jesus, our Lord, is near.

Or this from The Rubaiyat By Omar Khayyam Written 1120 A.D.

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows,

And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers t' incarnadine.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you

With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot--
And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!

A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!

Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

And those who husbanded the Golden grain,
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!


Omar expresses the same dust to dust philosophy, in these and many more verses and holds nature in high regard. His philosophy is an exhortation to abandon the futile attempt to fathom the desire of the Diety and abandon oneself to hedonism.

Byrant’s poem goes on in the same manner until the last stanza when he dutifully returns to Christian philosophy.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

After all the stanzas on wonderful, beautiful nature and becoming an atom in the universe of things, this reversal smells of lip service. While God’s nature is a marvelous, wonderful and beautiful creation, I too am one of His creations. While I can appreciate nature and understand my corporeal form will ultimately vanish in the dust of the earth, it does not cause fear and trepidation. Nor will I glorify the fact that I will ultimately be part of that nature which is so lovingly described. I have been promised a glorious future; all I need to do is strive to attain it.

We are in agreement that we disagree about the value of Thanatopsis.

Because the Bible says, "to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord," your anticipated respite will be one minute.

The hymn, "Work, for the day is coming," I heard and sang often as a child, however, I am enjoying retirement, and have no desire to hear about work.

Comparing the outlook upon life and death of these two gentlemen of renown, Bryant and Khayyam, is a comparison of East and West, as are their declared religious faiths.

The Universalist Church of America (now the Unitarian Universalist) of William Cullen Bryant was a religious denomination in the United States without a declared Holy Book or Scriptures. Members were free to use any literature of their own choice.

The defining theology of Universalism is universal salvation; Universalists believe that the God of love would not create a person knowing that that person would be destined for eternal damnation. They concluded that all people must be destined for salvation.

In addition, many Universalists were sympathetic to the nineteenth-century Spiritualism movement which was preached with some regularity from Universalist pulpits in the middle decades of the 19th century.

Unless Bryant managed to pick-up an understanding of "Christian philosophy" in some alternate universe, it can hardly be what he is reflecting in his last expressed thought about entering his grave.

He sounds as if he expects to achieve undisturbed peace, an eternal sleep, but wrapped in pleasant dreams?

As for the 12th century Iranian astrologer/scientist/poet Omar Khayyam, a Shia'a Muslim who made pilgrimage to Mecca, I imagine his concept of "hedonism" was a laugh a minute. NOT!

He has been taught that Allah is remote, capricious and unknowable by mankind, and that his good deeds will be weighed against his bad to determine his destiny. THEN, if he makes it, his heaven will be purely hedonistic... Unbridled sex, food and wine.

Incidentally, your initial posted thesis was on the inability of Americans to discuss 1) Sex and 2) Death, however; there is apparently, no one on this entire Forum prepared to discuss the topic of sex in an unoffensive (befitting Invitation Only), but informative manner...

"to be present with the Lord," is the respite . These lines from Andrew Marvell's poem sum it up:

"The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace. "

As for discussion, very little exists on this forum which is a disappointment. Discourse, debate are far more pleasing to me than recitation of factoids generated by the enormous news and opinion MSM and blogosphere. Most it is false, or a tempest in a teapot and almost all the rest is drivel.

Pafret,

As opinions are not acceptable as facts, unless in some manner documented, the one devoid of the other, in an internet debate or even a discussion are without value to all those who neither hold or share them.

Because most participants in the OPP forum are elderly, or at least mature in years lived, and have available time to do so, much of the contemporary news content has been individually digested before signing in.

Much that is posted is so predictable it little excites the mind or stimulates the senses, but for the poster it serves a purpose, else, why do it?

This is my first incursion into the rarefied air of the "Invitation Only" section, having prejudged it to be elitist and reeking of snobbery in concept; however, I have found neither to be the case, after being enticed by the "Henny Penny" quality of the title, "We are all going to die."

Henny Penny is a fable dating back 2,500 years, and is interpreted as a warning not to believe everything one is told...

"We Are All Going To Die!"

"We Are All Going To Die!"
by Cognitive Dissonance

"This one is short and sweet folks. The subject alone could fill several books, so I decided to keep it contained to just a few... OK, five pages. With that in mind, I present the basic outline and ask you to let your imagination be your guide. One word of advice; if you find yourself triggered and defending not discussing or thinking about this subject (or screaming at me that you do) you just might be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.

I have a motto, a proverb if you will, that neatly encapsulates the root and process of our insanity. It goes something like this… “We are only as sick as our deepest darkest secrets.” Those things we do not talk about, especially to ourselves (or if we do, in only the most superficial manner) point directly and inevitably to the root of our insanity. And I use the word “talk” in its broadest possible sense and meaning because “We the Americans” can incessantly ‘talk’ about something and still never say a word about the actual subject matter.

A perfect example would be our utter obsession with all things ‘sex’, a subject we rarely speak about directly. Our movies and various other media, our clothing, mannerisms, consumer products, nearly everything screams ‘sex’ in one form or another. Yet we use veiled terms such as ‘sleeping with him/her’ to convey the desire for, or the completed act of, copulation. I may be wrong, but sleeping is usually the last thing that’s actually going on.

There must be at least a hundred words we use to not directly discuss sex and our obsessed desire to engage in the act itself. It has been conservatively estimated that up to 40% of all internet activity is directly related to the trafficking of pornography. Yet we rarely talk about it in public or private.

The marketing of Viagra, Cialis and Levitra for “erectile dysfunction” is a case study in not talking directly about something, yet still speaking volumes on the subject. While most certainly the drugs have a medical use, the purpose of the advertising is to encourage the ‘patient’ to seek treatment to obtain the drug for ‘recreational’ use.

I would call us humans silly if our behavior wasn’t so dangerously neurotic. The same can be said about death and dying. If there is one thing we know with absolute certainty, it is that at some point we are all going to die. While the where and when may always be in question, there is no ‘if’ about actually dying.

And yet we are obsessed with death and dying, even though we cannot individually and collectively discuss the subject in depth and detail. I worked at Prudential for over eight years in the 90’s and the principal product I sold was life insurance. It would have been easier to sell refrigerators to an Eskimo than to sell the one product everyone is absolutely positively guaranteed to use. Or at least our beneficiary will use it.

I was actually pretty good at my job, but only because I brushed past most of the discomfort exhibited by the client and talked about death in the same way I would talk about night and day, as a commonly understood fact and not a whispered-among-conspirators possibility. This is not to say I was rude or blunt. Rather I was sensitive to their discomfort while displaying no awkwardness of my own. The psychology behind this technique is called ‘mirroring’, where the person you are talking to will eventually reflect back or mirror your own mannerisms and attitude.

Don’t believe me? While directly facing someone during a one on one conversation, cross your arms across your chest and keep them there. Then watch what happens.

Never once in those eight years did I come across a single person who didn’t demonstrate some degree of neurotic behavior about death and dying. Often it was hidden beneath anger, indifference, suspicion, embarrassment, discomfort, subject change, outright avoidance, the use of ‘code’ word non-descriptive terminology and so on. We are so frightened of death we insist on spending ‘whatever it takes’ to get healthy once sick, while spending little to nothing to avoid becoming sick in the first place. The ‘medical’ procedures and pharmaceutical poisons we inflict upon ourselves, particularly when older, would be considered (elder) abuse, even torture, if it wasn’t culturally accepted, thus considered normal and natural.

All this self inflicted pain and suffering just to possibly squeeze out a few additional moments of ‘life’, always assuming quality of life means very little and duration is the only thing that counts. What do you mean you don’t wish to participate in the cut, burn and poison procedures I’ve recommended? Don’t you want to live? Are you nuts?

For a death culture that doesn't want to discuss our own inevitable death, we seem to be obsessed with creating a lot of it in others. We are deeply immersed in what can only be accurately described as a ‘death’ culture. Our children are purportedly witness to 10,000 ‘simulated’ murders or deaths via various media before the age of 18. The military, a sophisticated killing machine, is culturally glorified as ‘moral and just’ (as long as they kill by the rules) or just doing their job (civilian leadership calls the shots) while the wounded soldiers who did the actual dirty work (that means killing and maiming) are eventually discarded like moldy mystery meat found in the back of the fridge.

Ever listen to a ‘professional’ military strategist speak about killing…oops, I mean ‘tactics’? Considering the words ‘kill’ and ‘death’, among many others, are never used, you’d think they were discussing their next blue chip corporate marketing campaign. In fact, in many ways they are. But what they aren’t discussing, while thoroughly and completely discussing it, is the actual ‘killing’.

‘Collateral damage’ is the perfect example, a phrase that reduces the ‘accidental’ spilling of blood and guts down to something not much worse than a severely stubbed toe. “I was chasing my wife around the kitchen table not trying to have sex with her when I suffered collateral damage and stubbed my big toe. It ruined the moment we weren’t having.”

I suppose this is because life is sacred and must not be taken carelessly or cavalierly. Notice that doesn’t preclude taking someone’s life, the primary function of the military, but about giving great thought and deliberation about taking someone’s life; then doing so efficiently and without the loss of your own life in the process. Because your own life is sacred and shall be preserved at all cost. Everyone else?

Umm…not so much.

Our entire system of governance ‘operates’ via carefully veiled physical and psychological coercion. The government representative asks nicely, several times in fact, before calling in the men and women with guns to convince us it’s in our own best interest to do as we are ‘requested’. The state has a monopoly on institutional violence and we are conditioned from birth to applaud and obey.

And make no mistake about it; we are trained from birth to accept the present state of violence as natural and normal, human nature in fact. Nothing we can do to change what we are, so just sit back and enjoy the show. If we won’t personally become sociopaths, at least accept (and obey) the sociopaths in power as just the way things are supposed to be.

Silly rabbit, peace and mutual cooperation are for sissies and gadflies. Real men and women take what they want because they can. Of course, this is human nature because we are all descended from apes and apes are naturally violent.

At least that’s what we are told.

Besides, when “We the Advanced Humans” finally turned to hunting and gathering rather than beating each other over the head like apes, we still had to beat each other over the head like apes in order to protect what we had hunted and gathered. Do you see the madness inducing closed loop feedback system working to perfection here?

A supposedly violent past is used to justify and rationalize a violent present and future. It is inferred we simply cannot, therefore will not, mature because violence is in our genes. The best we can do, we are helpfully informed, is to grin and bear it. And kill…but only if we must. And we must because ‘they’ made us do it. The killings will continue until the killings stop. Thank God we have the sovereign state to bring law and order to the art of violence and murder. Let the professionals handle it. They know what they’re doing.

Please note I used the word ‘supposedly’ in a previous paragraph. By now we should all understand ‘history’, particularly ancient history, doesn’t always reflect actual truth, but rather the prevailing and ever changing historical narrative that sets the stage for the present day controlling memes.

Because it’s all part of our overall belief system, we never ever consider how much our belief in a specifically defined, as well as hidden, past affects our view of today and tomorrow. It is nearly impossible to know where you are going without an understanding of where you have been and where you are now. That is how important it is for the controlling meme to manipulate our historical perspective.

Let me state unequivocally that a culture of death will always attempt to convince us via various methods of ‘persuasion’ that a culture of death is perfectly rational and justified in being what it is, a culture of death. How could it be any other way and still exist?

Considering we are in a controlling and abusive relationship with our serial abusers, is it any wonder we are all suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and are therefore unable to sanely confront and contend with our eventual demise? That which we refuse to confront controls us to some extent or another, and usually much more than we care to believe. Those who wish to exploit us only need to manipulate our fear of what controls us. It’s as easy as taking candy from a baby.

We are all going to die. Get over it. Embrace it as part of the journey. Examine it for all it is and isn’t. And accept it, thereby removing the fear and rendering it impotent. This way we can move on towards a more glorious endeavor, that of fully living life rather than simply waiting ‘round to die.”
- http://www.zerohedge.com/