QUESTION:

Is it death we fear... or not having lived our lives?

Maybe it's just me. Suddenly (time-wise) I am very and acutely conscious of death. What had once seemed so far away... so damn far it was not only inconceivable but also pointless to ponder about... has hit the forefront of thought.

I think about death all the time now.

My not 'being here' to even talk about it! The world turning and churning nevertheless. My passing barely a blimp except to a very few.

That bitch, regret.

Those other bitches... missed opportunities.

Between them, they now wreak havoc. What should be a gradual, genteel ceding to age, a mellowing... an acceptance of the order of life- has me instead rebelling.

I haven't lived enough! I am not tired, nor worn out and certainly not mellow! My mind is aflame and my will to produce overwhelming!

I need more bloody time.

I am not talking of 'mid-life' crisis and the sudden need to get bald, rich, drive a Ferrari and trade in my partner for a newer, fancier model. (Or whatever the female equivalent of all this is?)

I speak of the accumulation of plethora stuff in my head- and the fact there's little relative time left to ponder on it and squeeze all the juice out of it and... then write about it?

For me, personally- it's about all the things I won't live and write about; and the wasted 'time' left in my wake: The unproductive, silent decades of observing, accumulating- like regular savings deposited in a bank account I will never get to spend? The perception of time wasted and of missed opportunities now mess with the process of walking to the damn light with arms outstretched!

There's too much unknown for me to ponder on the 'act' of dying itself and what's beyond it. Younger, when I did pause on this notion, it was my physical absence from life which disturbed me. The world without me in it. Couldn't fathom it- in fact, that thought was pushed away far more than any other. Ego-driven, sure; the ego refusing to accept commonality: Everything comes to pass.

These days... I ache for time. I do not fear my nothingness, my physical demise- hell a look in the mirror takes care on any allusions there! But I fear running out before I've said all I want to say.

It terrifies me, this thought. That I will one day not be clacking keys?

Sure- there's an easy fix- stop bitching, start living. BE in love with life now. Live more. Love more. WRITE MORE!

Not so easy.

Not when life itself is the enemy. Not when living not only causes problems in the now, it leaves behind its two besties above- to ensure problems in perpetuity. Double whammy.

What say you? Which of the two is your biggest fear? Dying or not having lived?