Sans End

Subject: Sans End.

This morning it was locusts yesterday it was coronavirus and often it's simply global warming. Natural impediments to "the good life" we either ignore them or institute a faith based solution in the belief that we (the good ones) will find a place in heaven.
Life and its pestilences, ourselves included, go on unabated, the scale and the effects, given our deluded assumption that we are in charge, only heighten the insecurity we often feel being forced to realise we are not in charge. Only death has lived up to its billing and to this our response, which has been around for over 2000 years, is to create some sort of nirvana, a heaven, a place of refuge to find repose.
I suppose the complexity of our brains and the reflective quality we have developed to examine and postulate answers is both a boon and our Achilles heel. The positioning of our humanity and by assimilation, ourselves centre stage in a pre Kepler rearrangement of the forces of the cosmos and nature make us vulnerable to assumptions of our own importance.

Omar Khayyam's famous poem the Rubaiyt sums it up perfectly as he decries our self directed concerns about life and death. The quotes are legion "The moving finger having writ moves on nor all thy piety nor all thy wit can cancel half a line of it". "There was a door to which I found no key, a veil through which I could not see".
His remedy was drink, "Drink ! For you know not whence you came nor why. Drink ! for you know not why you go, or where.
The whole poem is flush with homilies and advice, glorious yearning sighs, jokes and rational agnostic argument. Like a wise sage he engages us with a conversation about our mortality, "Ah make the most of what we may yet spend before we too inter the dust descend. Dust into dust and under dust to lie / Sans wine, sans Song, sans Singer and sans End