Why So Serious?

Wow, I've really neglected this blog...

ANYWAY.

Following the reading of the mis-numbered Holy Sonnet 6 (It is apparently #10) by John Donne, I've had some thoughts about Death.

We all fear death.  I would like to think of death as similar to sleep, without dreams.  It's so hard to imagine just not thinking about anything, not doing anything, ever again, even though we cease to think and move for at least a few hours a day.  Death, I hope, will just be one night that is longer than most.  (if there is an afterlife at all O_O I guess that's what religion is for)

Death cannot "kill" anyone.  Accidents, natural causes, war, people "kill".  Death in this poem has been rendered into a state, slowly being torn down from "mighty and dreadful" to a sad, desperate being, slave to all the killings that control it.  It even becomes a being to pity, falsely arrogant and powerful.

This is all of course a very roundabout way of making sure we don't fear death.  You need to die to go to heaven.  But this blog entry is being written by a Buddhist and most of what I know about Christianity has been learned in lit so I can't guarantee my accuracy.

Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave.
Joseph Hall

Time Capsule

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,

But came the waves and washed it away:

Again I wrote it with a second hand,

But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

Vain man, said she, that doest in vain assay

A mortal thing so to immortalize,

For I myself shall like to this decay,

And eek my name be wiped out likewise.

Not so (quoth I), let baser things devise

To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:

My verse your virtues rare shall eternize,

And in the heavens write your glorious name.

Where whenas Death shall all the world subdue,

Out love shall live, and later life renew.

-Edmund Spenser, Sonnet 75

As teenagers, we like to think that we know the answers to the big things in life.  Everything dies, so savor every moment, yadayadayada.  But to actually live and breathe the things we to say (walk the walk, maybe) is a totally different story.  This sonnet was written by someone who lived.  Spenser lived, loved, and maybe gained enough wisdom to write this sonnet and share it with the world.  He laments our short, mortal lifespans and displays his eternal feelings for his love.  He compares his life to marks in the sand wiped clean by the tides. Spenser is, unlike me, a man fully aware of himself as well of his surroundings.

He, has, in a way, immortalized his love, since we still know about her over 400 years after this sonnet was written.

Maybe 400 years from now someone will stumble upon this blog...

Hi Ms. Quelch Don't Kill Me Please

I'm sitting here trying to do research for my lit timeline and I can't CONCENTRATE AHHH.  Jonathan and Monica are sitting on my right and working like there's no tomorrow and I'm not doing anything...

Superior beings right there.

Also Monica has swimming fish on her blog here!

I'll post a review, stay tuned ;D

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