The first week of August is getting closer. Many years ago, a Ouija Board predicted that I would die the first week of August, 2018. I am still borrowing library books, so part of me thinks it will not happen.
“What does it all matter?” This question pops up when I think about my life and the possibility of dying soon. I know my life matters to family and friends. I know my life matters to the income-tax people. But will my life matter when family and friends and the income-tax people are long gone? Years from now, will it matter that I lived and died, and died with library books due?
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp’d on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
- – Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 – 1822)