Sarah

I was contemplating the vagaries of life and the sweetness of death when a friend said to me, "Such cynical words are unworthy of you. Must you drag down the world with dreadful and morbid thoughts? It is no wonder you have so few friends."

I said, "I have few friends, this is true. But I tire of this accusation, which is founded on the conceit that a few words speak volumes. To accuse me of this fault is a misunderstanding.

"Is every day not the semblance of life? Each morning, you are born into the day. From the morning of youth, you rise up vigorously, embraced by the maturity of every afternoon. And in the evening, consider what you have done that day, and enter into the sweet death of sleep and dream. Wake in the morning with joy at this fresh birth. Welcome sleep each evening with no less joy. Both are joyous. This is how it is possible to love life as much as death, not as opposites, but as companions to one another, each giving meaning to the other together in the form of A, apart in the world, joined in the heavens. Where is the cynicism in this? What here is dreadful? What here is morbid? To accuse any man of this fault, is to accuse yourself.

"I seek shelter in the words of the Most High:

All beings fall into the night;
All beings are brought back to daylight.
No weapon can pierce the life that informs you;
No fire can burn it;
No water can drench it;
No wind can make it dry."