Is the reason that we fill our lives with so much stuff that doing so prevents us from facing the certainty of our death?
"Are our waking lives merely insectry, the march of ghouls collecting sensory data that our dreams convert into the product of our lives?"
Right around the time I turned five years old I lost my home, while a less lucky teenager lost his life.
What if the worldview of scientific materialism is preventing us exploring one of the most important aspects of living - dying?
The death of a dear friend gives me pause to ruminate on the nature of friendship in the digital age.