I have noticed recently that I have this serious fear of what comes after death. I do not know what lies after, and specifically, I am afraid of losing myself, of dissipating into the unknown and not existing. The whole story of my life, everything I have worked towards, suddenly dissolving away. I believe this narrows down to a fear of not having control.

Due to this, one of my first thoughts and remedies for this issue was stoicism. Simply put, there is no reason to let that which I cannot control bother me. And this was decent for a moment, but after some time, I considered that okay, I did not have control over time, of where my own life was eventually headed. And instead of recognizing this and deciding to not let it bother me, I became infuriated that I did not have that agency to direct my own existence, or to define it. And so stoicism sat at a stalemate in my head for some time.

I soon considered something so beautiful that I have seen it as a truth and take it as a step towards enlightenment. I do not matter. This whole obsession about me being gone, never “used” again, about everything I worked towards disappearing: pointless. Because my life was never about me. It was about life. I do not strut about and sing my song, but rather, the universe sings through me. I do not dance my way along, but rather move as the universe wants to. I am a tool, an instrument. I am the mouthpiece of the universe, here to play music that arises of love and circumstance. And thus, I am only here to dance and sing until the song ends. Do you ever cry in a fit of rage when a song has ended? Do you ever dance to a song entranced in the moves that come next or just came, and of the moment when the music shall finally settle? No, because there is no end goal. There is no working towards, just working, Just playing. Just music. My life is a song the universe is singing, and thus it is only my life that truly “matters” in any real way, inasmuch that it is art and truth. I am merely the mouthpiece. I can only hope to keep singing for as long as I must, and then the musician will take their lips off me for the final time and I shall dissipate. And it will be magnificent.

Now, when I write, I want to recognize that I am only taking in the universe and spitting out an excerpt from my own life. My poetry is the universe singing to itself. An act of fate, luck, and perfection. I never mattered though, it was never about me. Rather, it was how my life sounded, how it tasted and felt, how it can be viewed in a museum after my death and critiqued, how it existed in its due time and that was enough. Many people say not to take life too seriously. Well, consider not taking yourself too seriously either.