What separates us from Death

Between us and death there is hardly an instant. For some, that moment lasts for a lifetime, for others, that of a sigh.
The end is there and it is inexorable.
Schopenhauer, and perhaps also Nietzsche, reasoned that man’s suffering is twofold. Not only death haunts him but the absolute certainty that death will inevitably occur.
What separates us from death is, paradoxically, life. But life no longer as a photograph that captures the totality of our existence, but as a game of idealizations and projections that make it easier for us to delay the vision of the end.
For life to be life, a supreme omission is required of us. Refusing death would be ridiculous. Denying it is too ambitious. The only thing left for us is to walk the inexorable path towards it with eventualities and events that allow us to make it blurred and perhaps elusive.
The secret of life is not to delay death, but to operate as if it did not exist.
That is why, I suspect, we insist on projects that we will never realize, on impossible loves and speculations about a successful future.
The project that takes shape is an assignment accomplished, a step forward, toward the inevitable. Loves that become possible lose their magic and perhaps the reason we call them love. The speculations about a happy future that one sleepless night we carefully concocted in the darkness of our bedroom only serve to clear the way to the goal.
Thus and all the way it only becomes tolerable when we realize that the issue is not to smooth it out, but to make it as complex as possible.
Man is only man as long as he is capable of intuiting the end without seeing it directly.
Man is a man when the straight path bends into unpredictable curves, when it is crossed by pending accounts and projects that, from so miserable and bourgeois, become fascinating.
To clear the way is to see the end in the face.
In these cases, it is convenient to stop, review the chest of prescribed ambitions and dust off those matters that due to laziness or excess of daily life we ​​have discarded. It is desirable that life is built on immediate engineering, on how the hell we will have to overcome the next obstacle and, above all, never count the final meters to the finish line.
The accounting of life is typical of cretins. The dead have plenty of time to take stock.

Source Espejo Gotico