Wisdom is knowing what you don’t know.
Why does time seem to flow in one direction? Is there some ocean where its rivers unite and an atmosphere for its evaporating and raining anew?
How hard it is to give up control, to forsake our hypertrophied forebrains, to trust the Great Spirit to provide. No, better to do it all ourselves. Reform the ecosphere. Turn land into equations of fertilizer, pesticides, runoff, waste, and yield. Turn life-born water into poison. Recode life.
If man knew his fate would he make the same choices? Try to defy the inevitable? Change his words, acts, songs, or religion? I don’t know if anything could’ve helped him. Power is his demise. From the pinnacle he falls.
Will he cough, sputter, give up his last dying gasp, then roll over? Will he moan and screech, beg for mercy, and curse the gods? Maybe he’ll peacefully smile and fade into serenity. Like the Inuit elder wordlessly walking off into the frozen midnight plain, toothless and strengthless, choosing her children over herself. Or maybe he’ll take the world with him in a frenzied rampaging orgy of violence, death, and destruction. Who knows? What’s best?
Death is life and life is death. There was never another way.