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So there's a great essay
written by Sigmund Freud called
"On Transience."
And in it, he cites
a conversation
that he had with
the poet, Rilke,
as they were walking along
this beautiful garden.
And at one point, Rilke looked
like he was about to tear up.
And Freud said, what's wrong?
It's a beautiful day.
There's beautiful
plants around us.
This is magnificent.
And then Rilke says, well,
I can't get over the fact
that one day all of
this is going to die.
All these trees,
all these plants,
all this life is going to decay.
Everything dissolves
in meaninglessness
when you think about the
fact that impermanence
is a really real thing.
Perhaps the greatest existential
bummer of all is entropy.
And I was really struck by
this, because perhaps that's
why, when we're in love,
we're also kind of sad.
There's a sadness
to the ecstasy.
Beautiful things sometimes
can make us a little sad.
And it's because
what they hint at
is the exception, a
vision of something
more, a vision of a
hidden door, a rabbit
hole to fall through,
but a temporary one.
And I think, ultimately,
that is the tragedy.
That is why love simultaneously
fills us with melancholy.
That's why sometimes I feel
nostalgic over something
I haven't lost yet, because
I see its transience.
And so how does one
respond to this?
Do we love harder?
Do we squeeze tighter?
Or do we embrace the Buddhist
creed of no attachment?
Do we pretend not to care that
everything and everyone we know
is going to be
taken away from us?
And I don't know if
I can accept that.
I think I more side with the
Dylan Thomas quote that says,
I will not go quietly
into that good night,
but instead rage against
the dying of the light.
I think that we defy
entropy and impermanence
with our films and our poems.
I think we hold onto each
other a little harder and say,
I will not let go.
I do not accept the ephemeral
nature of this moment.
I'm going to extend it forever.
Or at least I'm going to try.
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