It is hard to imagine one's own non-existence, one's extinction, one's own life going out like a candle flame, there is the flame, then there is no longer any flame. Well, actually it is impossible to imagine it because one is still there, reflecting on absence or darkness, on some negative or neutral image of non-being, which is no longer non-being just for that reason, that one is there and one is regarding it. But what of hope for the life to come, that we might overcome death? What is the source of the hope, though, why might one hope, what is it that one clings to, that one wants to hold on to, even if one's life ends like a half-finished sent .....



'But hope would be hope for the wrong thing ... '



But what do I think of this. Well, I have no idea, but I think anyone should consider all the possibilities and be reconciled to them. And can one be reconciled to all of them, all the possibilities?

The oyster catchers are back, in the meadows with the geese, one walks quietly along the track in the darkness and they still take alarm and rise in panic from the water-logged fields