Death. What a strange concept it is. What is its significance for the individual? What happens when we die? Where do we go, and once there, what do we do? For what reason are we born? What is it that dreams us into existence and once manifest, remains tantalisingly hidden from sight, yet in truth is not so?
I suppose it depends on who you talk to or what you read. Or does it? Perhaps it depends on experience. And what’s in a word after-all, other than an embedded truth. But then, all truth is relative in accordance with our understanding of it, is it not? Now there’s a concept.
As a researcher and non-fiction writer, I can only research, write about and make reference to the experiences that life has given me. I can only share my own perspective, as other writers have done, but in the sharing one finds the commonalities which link human beings with one another.
There are themes which emerge from the telling of one’s experience and the sharing of one’s story. Themes which unite and link those individuals in a common bond of understanding and shared experience. These themes become truths then realities and finally a knowing of what is, in the face of so much of what is not.
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