There was never an if about the judgment; it had always been when: Regardless of our doing, the final whistle will ring not faintly. No one is getting acquitted alive.
Everything about our existence is heartbreakingly fleeting and temporary! We go about our days either as active souls to make the most of the moments or as depressed recluses. Whatever our disposition, time destroys its keepers. Its effects become noticeable when we transition between phases, experience changes, and meet our fate. Though not always evident in our psyche, we have merely been loaned a term and only roam in our paths with others, bonding or recovering from unbinding. We still cry without mastery in the tears we wept once.
To make things even direr, the laws of science conflict with our perception of reality, making it ambiguous. For example, the entire spectrum of light and sound waves is obscure within the science of our normal vision. These limitations severely handicap our seeing and hearing abilities. Other sensory organs have their restrictions as well. These constraints make us like a water-deprived Beduin! Desperate to quell the thirst for assurance, yearning for ways to make sense of it all creates a frenzy even when we are at rest.
The madness persists endlessly. Add a hundred years more to our count of things, and there will only be a memory of us on faded paper or, if we are fortunate, on moss-covered stones. What are we supposed to do with this truth, then? Is it even helpful when we must navigate our complicated lives? Unknowingly, we resort to a delusion—that we may somehow evade the inevitable for a little longer. There is never an answer to that inquiry, yet we cling to it—the barometer of this measure has absolutely no explanation.
Some fall into the dark crater of hopelessness that our existence is like smoke—it flies off too quickly without a shape of absence. Few crave to make an imprint, to remain occupied—only if in the memory of loved ones. So every moment, every drop of good wishes, petals, and pebbles are precious to them to make the garland of their presence. Of course, plenty of work is needed to cultivate this trust, and more patience is necessary to adhere to this fascination when the surroundings are bleak! And against all the odds, the solace of reassurance sprouts in the land of reason when the drought of feeling powerless turns pale from the monsoon rain of faith.