Philosophy – “Why Resurrection is Impossible, of any Human” – 8/30/2020

“How much grief is in the world, that one wishes for the return of life, rather than the rest of it?”

– Modern Romanticism

They will say that the mind still functions, for a time, after the heart has stopped. They say that during this, the mind is reliving memories. Though, wouldn’t it be possible that those memories are being “transferred”? Where to? The spirit realm? The afterlife? Heaven? The void?

It should be understood simply by the mind still remaining functional for those minutes, that the life’s documentation of memories, are being transferred. To somewhere else, that is, where remaining life cannot go. How has no scientist fully understood the mind? It is because life craves knowledge, though has its body feel the pleasure of that gain. No human can understand the mind, when it is the body that understands the pleasure of gain. Were a live human to attempt to look into that world where all dead beings have had their memories transferred, they’d be seeing something not meant to be seen, until death. That is, it would result in the death of that curious person’s body. For if what any human protects out of love, is the body, then to peer into such a realm of memories would have to mean to be completely absent from the body. Protection over the body means for there to be continuous gain and development, for it. Love could not be received for that person’s body, were the mind to be cut from it, as it could never be mutual. Thus, it would result in death. That curious person could not take what was seen, back to the body for its pleasure. If all life’s gains upon Earth are felt, as pleasure, then a complete separation of mind from body would result in the body’s complete shutdown. Even more, such a curious person would have their own memories “vacuumed” into that realm.

When the body can no longer feel, evidently numbed by death, it has been abandoned of any pleasure that memories would grant during the experience. Pleasure is for life, made for memories that come into the metaphysical world as bliss, upon death. At the end of our life, it has been the end of our development. We can only recede into the exacting definition of love, at that peak of life’s development. Here, we can define love as being the peak of any life’s span of time, before the existence ends. It ends, blankets itself within non-existence, and becomes comforted by the knowledge that work, or movement, is no longer necessary to deserve rest.

In what any human expects of life, it is planned to be pleasurable. Even of the one who attempts suicide, only wishes to dispose of pain. In life, there is pleasure. In death, there is both loss of life, and loss of love.

If the mind is transferring memories over to a different realm, then it is a place that life cannot go. Why is that? It is because so long as a human has a physical body, metaphysical realms are not accessible. As in, nothing physical can pass through to the metaphysical realm. It would merely evaporate. To the void, what need would a body, with lungs, have there? It would suffocate. Even with a way to breathe, such a body could not last an eternity. Even if a device could be made to provide a human, in outer space, all the oxygen upon Earth, that would still not guarantee an “eternity”.

The transference of memories to the metaphysical realm would mean that resurrection of the physical form results in complete amnesia of the mind.

Were a grieving widow want to use some device to pump blood through the heart, so that the body awakens, the mind of the dead person would be at a loss. They’d not retain their former personality, nor even remember who they once loved. They could not speak, nor walk, nor eat. They’d not know how.

Resurrection remains impossible, because one would be resetting the mind, completely. One, as a physical live human, even of any scientist, could not reach into the metaphysical world, without the mind’s complete separation from the body. Even then, to drag back the memories of the once-living person back to the cadaver, would have to be, in total absolution, a selfless act. They’d represent the epitome of sacrifice, and expire from existence, in the name of the life they deem to be more important than their own. It would be a life for a life.

To bury the body, merely means that one is forgetting what that form felt, in life, of their pleasure. Of all they attained, if for selfish reasons, would be pleasure. Of all they attained, if for selfless reasons, would be pleasure. Among all these gains, a human, whether for selfish or selfless reasons, as material or immaterial achievements, makes the life go to the peak of development. Such as memories, transferred upon the time of death, as the body is laid to rest. What “rest” should symbolize, is the sleep of the body from work. It is the rest of the body of all labor it took to attain.

What that once-living person ever caused, being pain, is always forgiven upon death. Now when a person forgives the dead person’s caused pain, the forgiving person feels pain. Because, when we forgive, we do not feel the pleasure in enacting vengeance. We cannot enact vengeance upon death, when such is needless and a waste.

Quote – “A Man, and Sex” – 8/29/2020

“A man is gifting, when he forsakes what he feels, for the feelings of a woman. A man is vain, when he forsakes what a woman will feel, for the sake of what he can attain.

If, in bed, a man cannot gift to a woman her pleasure, in sole focus on her feelings, then he is not himself.

If pleasure should matter to the man, over the woman’s own, then he is not himself.”

– Modern Romanticism

Poem – “A Sharing of Neglected Kisses” – Romance – 9/29/2019

Beyond the time to which
We’ve found it needed to feel
I seem bold enough to love you,
In all that has come upon you.
There are tragedies so uncertain,
And fates so entwined,
That I feel a simple need, or simple pleasure,
In kissing you, with all kisses never offered.

What has fate in store us,
In the times we’ve respected our faces,
For the comfort it may throw upon
Our defeated shoulders?
I ask, once more,
In spite of my mind in this torture,
“What has fate in store for us,
Beneath a moon that shows only coldness?”

There are visions of our death,
Great marks of scars that will not heal,
Not by ointment, nor by remedy
Of potion that spills a fluid.
All the cure,
Is one heated kiss,
In the great banquet of true and actual
Safety, in the arms of the other.

You have cheeks so full of red,
And eyes so full of dread,
I am here to mark you with a feebleness,

So that you may drop your guard,
One final time.
I will kiss you until tears come swimming,
Though, in the happiness of a coming morning,
When sweet dew will replace so much bitterness.

Poem – “Oh, Love; How can You Weep?” – Romance

Oh, when you’ve begun to weep in the sickness
Of your unending pain.
What embrace can I offer,
Different from the last?
What kiss may I give,
More compassionate than the former?

How can weeping be a benefit,
During when hope lies fruitful and hale?
You continue to see tears like raining sapphires,
Like raining blood, like raining rubies.
Like the emerald between your fingers,
Like grass that has been taken.

Oh, when you’ve begun to weep in the sickness
Of your unending pain.
What embrace can I offer,
Different from the last?
What kiss may I give,
More compassionate than the former?

You have tears still hanging loosely
On that forlorn stare of yours
It burns holes in my mountain of pride,
And makes the forests crumble to ash.
Love holds its doors open,
For us to walk through its gates,
And you’ll weep, merely weep,
Despite our hopes, despite our wishes.

Has faith been lost in you?
Under the many doubtful turns
Have you come to quake
In the fear,
Because of my doings,
Of my lack of them?

Upon the floor, you crawl with eyes streaming such sadness,
Above my arms, I attempt to let you see, the Heavens for their blue,
And you stream sadness,
Upon Hell and its washed hues to make shades.

I feel strong, only when faith is an occurrence,
Never weak, and never faltering, when there’s no doubt,
From you, my wicked beauty.

Make me want you, more than the highest angels,
I am no monster, my love, no devil of danger.

We kiss, do we not, when we desire relief?