It is almost midnight and I have just finished reading Tess of the d’Urbervilles. For those you haven’t read it, it is a beautiful piece of language; Hardy knows how to paint a picture. But it is heart breaking. The theme, as with many of Hardy’s works, is that once a wrong is done you never stop paying for it.
I am not too sure if this is the reality of life.
However, this post is not to talk of Tess. I shall do it later at length, leisurely. This blog is about something that Tess said which I found quite intriguing.
We celebrate birthdays, look forward to anniversaries. We make a huge deal out of dates that hold special meaning to us. But what about the day of our death? Each year, as we live, we must be unconsciously passing that day. Do we feel that in another ten years time, on a day like today I will leave this world? I have not yet felt as such. But it is nice to wonder. How immersed in the present day we humans are, that we (intentionally?) neglect that the day all our frolics end is also embedded in these 365 days; that the day we move on into the void might be 26th January. It might be the 27th., It might be the day of your birthday. It might be the Valentine’s day. Oblivious to this, we pass our days.
Tess wondered, and so do I, don’t we actually feel the day of doom in our bones as we pass the date? Or is it some kind of a receptor adaptation? A purposeful oblivion?