I’ve said that the concept of death itself is immutable. However, our interpretations of death have changed countless times– interpretations that are tailored for an individual. After all, death comes in different forms– be it physical or metaphorical.
For this, let my experiences form the ink of this piece.
My ego is my identity. An identity that progressively changes over the course of years. A change that has been accelerated with my writing being the catalyst. With the growth of such an identity, parts of this identity no longer fit with the whole– leaving it to be pruned.
There was once a fool whose sole wish was to make others laugh. The concept of shame was not made apparent to him just yet– his outrageous acts fuelling the laughter of others. This Jester had an unblemished soul– an innocence that covered my eyes with light.
The Jester was disciplined– for his acts of laughter were not deemed acceptable. However, his shamelessness made it difficult. With each cycle, a piece of his light was snuffed out. After a year’s worth of cycles, the Jester lost his light— the light that animated his voice.
Without this light, how could the Jester live? So the Jester died bereft of light– marking the first death of my ego.
While the Jester’s light perished, the agglomeration of its darkness was enshrined in its place. From the corpse of the Jester and its darkness, a Devil rose. A Devil whose existence was concealed under the foil of the plague. This Devil was one that questioned itself– seeking an answer to its existence.
It looked for ways to deal with the guilt building in its heart– committing acts and then reviling them of its own accord. Eventually, it fell into constant self-doubt— a doubt so heavy that it threatened to break its mind made of glass.
In the end it realised, for it to be free of such contradictions is to die once more– to cast off these vices. So its death was one of its own volition– its sword of Damocles being guilt.
From the ashes of the Devil, the Human was born. The shards of the Jester were reintegrated with infernal anger lingering within this Human’s soul. The Human watched the world that they lived in, looking at it with disgust– for his innocence has long since perished. He looked at his past and felt shame and disgust course through his veins.
His laughter was one that could constantly be heard– until his laughter became a crime. From this prosecution, he learnt to don a mask– a mask that hides his emotions and thoughts. He hones his moral compass as he begins to observe others– his disgust deepening the reserves of his tolerance, one born of powerlessness.
This Human is the first ego to have survived for more than a year. Before he begins his second year of survival, he is betrayed. His trust in a friend is damaged– a friend from the Jester’s time. This transgression was forgiven, believed to be a mistake born out of fear.
Yet these transgressions did not stop– breaking the lens that the Human used to gaze at their friend. Behind the Human’s attempts to punish mortal wrongs and hypocrisy, that friend’s shadow covered that spark and snuffed those efforts with their authority.
In the end, the Human cut the threads of fate tying him to this friend– erasing his past at the cost of the Human’s death.
The Human’s essence lived on as a Ghost. This Ghost dwelled among others, truly living up to its name. For the Ghost has already decided that there is no point in building any Human bonds– for he has grown weary of such hypocritical and immoral people. Yet he is consigned to be with the very men that he is at odds against. His mask became tighter– now covering his entire existence.
However, this Ghost was nourished by the few that he found a comfort in. A comfort that anchored itself. Yet, with the passage of time– those few have become dimmed, a comfort that no longer comforts the Ghost. The Ghost learnt that no being shall truly be with him in this life– that he and God alone will be the only two that shall always be there.
Thus, the Ghost chose to die– to let go of such comfort and to get rid of the past once more.
A body long buried– the body of the Human digs itself out of its grave. It attempts to take off the mask that it donned years ago, but time has meshed the face with the mask– becoming one. Along with this change, the body feels a sense of alienation– his knowledge and vision diverging from those that he could claim as “His” people. They could claim him yet he could not claim them.
It wishes to be Human once more– to feel and to interact with its kind once more. Yet it realised that these wishes are unattainable, leaving a bitter taste in a dry mouth. Yet it refuses to lay in the coffin– to give up its Humanity. It attempts to mingle with others, only for him to realise its folly. The folly of hope– to hope that he would be understood and would be able to befriend others.
Thus, the body chose to die– to let the Human wake up to reality.
However, in his place, a Hermit appeared. With the birth and death of each ego, the Human aged. He gave up his desire to be understood by others– whether they understand him or not, it is no longer a concern. He has let go of his attachment to people, recognizing that their presence is one fated to leave him. It is not to isolate himself– to fully let go of those who already left.
He abandoned his desires yet left his intentions whole– unable to fully leave them behind. He is tired– tired of life yet marches forth. That which is his in this life shall surely be granted by providence– so what is the point of desire if it is a desire to covet that which has no affinity with him?
His hands still burn– the price for snuffing such vivid desires. For him to end one pain– he gains another as his heart aches. Yet this Hermit is a tired man— a man who feels as if he is an imposter cloaked in his own skin. A man who fears that he shall be seen only for his goodness, that his goodness covers his entire being– a layer of a mask that needs no supplement.
For his entire standing is of integrity– an integrity that he would cripple himself to uphold. Whether that sight is one that uplifts his place in society or turns him into a sinner– he has no scruples in tearing such false pretense– to leave it untouched would be the final damnation of his mortal vestiges.
At last, the Hermit realizes– his vice is unlike the others, a purity that he is unwilling to sully yet he insists on maintaining his humanity– consigning himself into a pain that will always reemerge, one as tenacious as his will. A purity which views life with more vigour– distancing itself from those who swim along the surface of life, his level being that of the trenches.
A vice that has become the Hermit’s foundation.
His traits are moulded by his predecessors– those who died are gone, yet their indelible marks still remain long after their passage.
The Jester’s laughter still echoes– a childish one. The Devil’s insanity lingers– a welcome one. The Human’s disgust is eternal– even if the target is himself. The Ghost’s lack of presence has never left– to be forgotten. The body’s hope is enshrined– a light lit in remembrance.
Yet there are echoes that have carried over from each death– echoes that will never truly die– only wane and wean.
A Preacher who spent his time discoursing others with the intent to defend his religion. A discourse that he has given up, as his time is limited and he is lacking in knowledge. Yet the knowledge he gained still remains– knowledge that binds him more rigidly than others, for this knowledge has obligations within it— his breadth defining the limits imposed on him.
A Question, a Question that constantly changes itself– to learn more. A gluttonous Question, a greed for knowledge. A Question that never pauses in its questioning– for its goal is to understand a person in the most thorough manner. A Question that lacks expression– an atmosphere of deafening silence.
A hopeless Romantic, a pitiful one with tall standards yet his own height measures short. A want on the verge of a need– restrained by Egos and Echoes alike. Cursed to reject incomplete love– to reject his ardent desire to love and be loved– for the only love he recognizes is one with vows. A hopeless Romantic– one whose affinity is with depth, for this Romantic’s weight is an encompassing one– a love that shall drown in shallow waters.
A Mask, one conceals emotions and thoughts– its twitches and signs were once consciously made to show emotion, becoming natural to it. A Mask whose weight conceals the reality of a person. One could never truly disappear– for it is an instinct, one which has to be consciously lowered– as testament, that his humanity still remains. A Mask that was made to hide laughter has become an armor– concealing scars– containing lunacy.
An Arbiter, one whose ink stains his clothes as he buries others in bureaucracy. A patient avenger, observing and compiling every interaction to punish others– waiting for irrefutable evidence, waiting for a single mistake to use dated records to cover their remains with red tape. An Arbiter who seeks retribution for the powerlessness he felt– rendering him unable to right the wrongs he laid privy to.
An Observer, constantly watching others in order to determine their thoughts or to predict their actions– purposefully dulling his senses for the sake of ethics. Assessing them in a neutral manner– one that neither diminishes their stature or elevates it. To observe and understand the sentiments and sides that others take in life’s myriad situations. For it, there is nothing to envy– each smile being a cherished one.
A Plotter, who makes plans for his predictions– to quell a future that may never come. One who wishes to invert colours with their tongue– to turn truths into soft lies or to turn lies into his truth, removing the boundaries between the two. Constantly adjusting their plans– based on a mental state and information of those within its scope– weary of the changing whims of others. Whose plans are to address the worst– for the world is one of grey, not of white and black.
A Code of ethics, one whose vision is that of a limiter– to hold back the Echoes and Egos, serving as a watchdog. A Code of ethics that learned to navigate through life’s monochrome sea. One that balances the thoughts of others with its own– formulating a Code that is stringent, upholding its own moral underpinnings– protecting its counterparts from themselves. A Code which in society can find itself in agreement with– for this is a necessary component.
These Echoes— the Preacher’s faith, the Question’s endlessness, the Romantic’s curse, the Mask’s coverage, the Arbiter’s anger, the Observer’s tolerance, the Plotter’s shades, the Code’s balance are fragments that death could not erase.
Thus, the Echoes formed a shadow eternal yet shifting– a shadow that the Hermit now bears. A shadow that each ego shall contribute towards– for the Hermit is not eternal.
The Hermit shall meet his demise– a fate that he prepares for with a heavy head. For he too shall be succeeded by another, allowing him to meet his laborious end— some parts diverted to the shadow, other parts imprinted onto the next Ego.
His death shall not be the final iteration of this cycle, for I have yet to reach my peak, let alone decline.
Death is not solely a concept to end– but a concept that transforms us. My ego will die again– that much is a certainty. Yet from its grave, it will unearth itself with a different form– a form that death has yet to touch.
Afterword:
I’m proud of myself. I originally planned how I was going to write, but faced a writer’s block of sorts so instead I decided to focus on the ego instead of writing about the different types of death. From there, my hands moved on their own. This worked out way better than I expected as I wanted to add some self-reflection.
Instead, I combined death with some more reflection about myself– my growth over the course of six years. It also addresses an issue– that my writing may make me look like a better person than I actually am, hanging a false halo onto my name. The reason why I chose six years is due to that time period being a defining one in my life– it’s memory seared into my head. After all, our negative experiences are more memorable for us.
The word “Preacher” is used neutrally in terms of religion along with any other language that may be associated with a particular religion. This is intentional since there’s no need for the lens of religion to be used in conjunction with my word– that’s a whole new ballpark of potential issues. My work will remain neutral in terms of religion. If there are any exceptions that I will make, then I will explicitly mention that I am making an exception for this self-imposed restriction.
The reason why I’m going into such detail is so my work has minimal bias– I understand that I can’t be truly unbiased which is why I’d rather make more obvious of the small bias that does slip by. There’s more that I could say, but it’s better for those words to be left unspoken.
If you look back at the prequel of this work “Death’s Gravity…”, you can find some similarities with this work and the prequel. That synergy is more of a natural one since I threw my plans away two minutes into writing this piece. Also, a point that I forgot to mention is that the recent activity may be due to me liking other people’s comments while doomscrolling, so now I can’t really tell the source of these views smh.
Genuinely, good job for making it so far since this is currently the longest piece I’ve written so far– as of now, it’s over 2,000 words lol. There’s also going to be more slides thanks to the spacing.
Congratulations for finishing yet another piece of mine.