Death and the "son"
Death and the "son"
Death and the "son"
24 August, 2015
If you ask me, a funny thing to death, in a little while - the sacred, its rites, its artifice, imagine what could be more natural than death, now I remember the end of the funeral to be such a tragic thing, and kind of funny, death is the end, but not - a common way of life, death is the end of a dead man, someone might end gagidasasruldes?
By gvtsvlis death, if gvshlis gvastsorebs land, people can still become the tskhovelebitsit resistant. We are losing our children, parents, lovers. Vmarkhavt everyone, but we still did vepotinebit life, because that is our existence, to fight for what may be, does not necessarily make sense.
A few days ago mivedzale intoxication, with good Georgian intoxication, toasts, and ganskhvavebulebita stories.
So, the anonymous alkoholikta Confessions alone, and I had to toast a number, the parents should be talking about, I started to my mother supergmiria and my father - the greater superhero, that I love them and that the figure will rise up and will go out of my life, I prefer, I before I die, "die", not a bad word, is not it ?!
There's a discussion-debate was held, I can not describe, I kept silence, then I remembered my mother once read my post, which began like this: "Sometimes I imagine his own death scene" and there was a whole philosophy, how to sink my body is burdened with, how to masses were split my lungs sea.
On the day my mother called me unusually late, gichirso what, what is going on, so things dagasevdianao, thoughts, why gitrialebso, cried,
He loved the people, in which the work ourselves, for which an enormous working for. In addition to genetics and we take what we get, we get the mother and the father, who can not sleep in our house before, who are waiting for us in the living room so that they do not sleep, who thinks I am the little ones, even after a long time, we grew up.
My weekends book Michel rostenis "child" I have chosen, I do not like simplicity, but it is attractive, I admit, with a book called "son", but it can contain this word in so many things, my adapted epithet misplaced, perhaps.
Yeah, for me is the genius of the book cover, books asetqdiani more people love the overlooked, the meek, those that do not cry, and akao, mogvaktsieto attention. I opened it and let loose a barrage of feelings over there waiting for me. There I saw the dead feelings, feelings of everyone living there waiting for me, the worst thing is that none of them meutskhova,
So, like, I was dead, I was alive,
Lyon was dead.
Lyon died.
Life is hard, and gadmodughs,
Some people selfishly up and die out. So simply, without even saying goodbye and then you are the memories of a life partner to have, then his father was dying for photos love match, then his parents own salty tears relentless onslaught, life goes by and no one because he does not stop, behind which there looks, no gamarilissvetdeba anyone moutsdis, the lives of everyone of us pekhul his involvement.
We learn their rugged, dasevdianebuli spirits life, then put up and continue to do so, because this is our purpose, we can endure pain, die, be resurrected, even to the same place again.
This is a book that many things to think over,
It's a book, that relieves the fear of death,
Tears and their taste may remind
But tears are good,
Katarzisia tears.
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