This matter supposedly has nothing to do with me, but who does this matter have nothing to do with?
I asked myself, if that person is me, can I leave with peace of mind? Of course, the sudden death will not tolerate your peace of mind, but if there is a soul of mine, watching my own life end like this outside of the body, can I be at ease?
This matter has entangled me in the past few days, and the thing called nothingness is lingering.
I’m going to travel, it’s the legendary Paris~ I searched the guides and materials, and the more I checked, the more maddening: Louis XIV, Bastille, the Revolution, Hemingway, Mobile Feast, Philosophy Café, Picasso . . . What does this overwhelming land have to do with me? What does the human history, which is as thick as a thick-bottomed pizza, have anything to do with me? How much can this infinite world have to do with me?
I think of the beautiful places I have been to, the good times I had, yes, I admit, I had good times. SO WHAT? Where are they now? I flipped through the photos, and I saw some beautiful light, some beautiful light and shadow, the past seems to always be shrouded in some beautiful light and light and shadow. There is also a smile. The flickering smile crackles like light in the dark memory, so what? Watching them disappear in smoke. Life is like the moon constantly being devoured by tengu.
It's really out of nihility. But what can I do?
Then I watched the movie "Paris". I think this movie is more reliable than all the guides I have watched and all the awesome cultural and historical background books. The Paris in the movie is so normal, and the historian satirizes his brother. Statement: You are too NORMAL, this word actually made his brother a nightmare. . . We are so afraid of NORMAL, we don't want to die. This Paris is neither deep nor brilliant nor feast at all. This Paris is not even fashionable, but this Paris makes me feel at ease. The historian in the film was even stunned by the Parisian thick-bottomed historical pizza, and he was going to see a psychiatrist. . . I think I can go to Paris calmly. And I must go to Lachaise Cemetery, to see the awesome people lying together, and the NORMAL people.
The brother whose life is hanging by a thread in the movie made me cry, so fragile is all because of the damn sense of nothingness. My friends advised me to think less and be happy. Then I thought, if happiness makes me numb and unable to empathize with the pain of others, then I would rather not be happy. If those awesome spiritual transcendence, Buddhism, or meditation make people tickling the joys and sorrows of the world, it is nonsense.
On the way to the hospital for surgery, my brother saw everyone. Because of the traffic jam, he saw everything in Paris. He was lying in the taxi and smiled. If a person can smile on the way to death (still in a traffic jam!), then he has the power to continue living.
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