I am grateful to have bumped into an author writing about the very things that most interest me (death, for instance); who is lampooning the lengths to which people will whistle past The Impending Loom. His main character ruminates in ways like this:
“As for the wider question of age, and mortality: no, he didn’t think he felt a panic at the shutting of the doors. But maybe he hadn’t yet heard their hinges creak loudly enough.”
I, too, have heard the hinges creaking and so, I choose not to whistle as I skate on ice that may seem thick, but is not. A song I sing contains the lyrics, “She cried, Oh Willy, don’t murder me; I’m not prepared for eternity.”
The author I am talking about is Julian Barnes, who openly admits, “I’m not trying to spin you a story; I’m trying to tell you the truth.” Pontius Pilate asked, “What is truth?” but Jesus said, “I am the truth…”
All this brings to a question to my mind: Can we (mere mortals) be prepared for eternity? Chime in if you care to share. FYI, this image was posted on Twitter.