There are three deaths.
The first is when the body stops functioning.
The second: when the body is pushed to the grave.
The third is that moment, sometime in the future, when your name is pronounced last.
Many people leave the moment their loved ones arrive because only loved ones can remember.
He waits with a painful heart for his statues to fall.
And this is the curse of this room: As we live in the heads of those who remember us, we lose control of our lives and become who they want us to be.
What we call God is actually a couple. When they decided to create humans in their own image, they levelled and made roughly equal numbers of both sexes.
On some nights when they feel so liberated, they all create an individual of the opposite sex, just to see what it looks like.
("what is the answer?")
They decided it might be easier to build custom gigantic computing machines to find the answers.
So they invested in the work of dozens of generations to engineer them.
We are their machines.
This seemed to be a smart strategy for the elders of their communities.
However, they have overlooked a problem: To build a machine smarter than you, it has to be more complex than you - and the ability to understand the machine begins to wane.
Your fantasies have cursed your reality.
The end of death is the death of impulse.
It turns out that a lot of life is the opium of the masses.
There is a marked decrease in achievement.
People take more naps. There is no big rush.
Your creative people are gifted at this: creation - but they don't participate in observing and judging our actions, as we assumed earlier.
The creators don't see any of the details as our lives unfold.
Couldn't care less.
You are eight years old, you have less in common than you would have expected at the age of thirty-two and you at sixty-four.
This eighteen-year-old that you find in common with other eighteen-year-olds has more in common with your seventy-three-year-old.
The seventy-three-year-old does not mind seeking meaningful conversations with others of the same generation.
Other than the name, you have very little in common.
When she dies, she mourns for all the atoms from which she was made.
They have been stuck together for years, whether in the layers of the skin or the spleen communities.
By your death, they shall not die. Instead, they diverge from one another, drive away in their separate directions, mourn the loss of the private time they shared, and be haunted by the feeling that they were playing a role in something bigger than themselves, something with their own life, something they could do. With difficulty putting a finger on.
There is bitter competition between the gods.
Jealousy discounts abound because the stakes are so low; The gods are not big and powerful and they know this.
So they try their best to stand out and listen.
Some humans communicate to make phone calls to one friend from among countless hordes.
When staring over the steering wheel, everyone feels so joyful and sad as if he were the only true model in the world.
Of all creation, the gods prefer us: we are the only ones who can sympathize with their problems.
Genes open up, proteins open up, synapses rearrange.
This is all much less than your consciousness - you are just carrying the brain box without knowing what's going on inside it.
In the afterlife, you can enjoy all the possibilities at once, and live multiple lives in parallel.
I said to the angel, "That's a lot of work."
"Maybe we can warm you up with a simpler condition," he says.
"How would you like to be in a closed room, face to face with your lover?"
And then here you are.
You are engaging in her conversation and thinking about something else at the same time;
She is both giving herself to you and not giving herself to you;
Find her rejected and love her deeply;
She adores you and wonders what she missed with someone else.
I said to the angel: "Thank you." "That's me so used to."
Although we credit God with the determination of man, it turns out that he is not skilled enough to do so. In fact, he inadvertently hit the first domino.
The Rewarders originally thought they were giving it as a gift, but Punishers quickly decide that they can utilize it as a kind of affliction, draining out the pleasures of life by revealing its involuntary mechanical nature.
Revealing the secrets behind the scenes has little effect on our experience.
Secret codes of life - whether given as a gift or a burden - are never appreciated.
In the hereafter, you are not judged against others, but yourself.
Specifically, you are being judged against what you could have been.
So the other world is a lot like the present world, but now it includes everyone who could have been.
They made smarter choices, worked harder, and invested extra effort in pressing closed doors.
These eventually opened doors for them and allowed their lives to spread in colourful new directions.
This success cannot be explained away by a better genetic hand; Instead, they played your cards better.
In their parallel lives, they made better decisions, avoided moral lapses, and did not give up love easily.
They worked harder than I did to correct their mistakes and apologized more.
You have little sympathy for these less important people and more than a little sympathy for their laziness.
“If you stopped watching TV and got off the sofa, you wouldn't be in that position,” she told them when you bother interacting with them at all.
But you were always better in your face in the hereafter.
In the library, you will see someone with an arm with the tender woman's hand who let go.
Else you are browsing the shelves, and he runs his fingers over the book he has already finished writing.
And look at this guy jogging outside: He has a much better body than yours, thanks to the consistency in the gym that you've never kept up with.
The shorter you achieve your potential, the more pesky selves you have to deal with.
True equality.
The Communists are baffled and angry because they have finally achieved their ideal society, but only with the help of a god, they do not want to believe in.
Meritorious people feel heartbroken because they are forever stuck in an unmotivated regime with a bunch of rosy.
The Conservatives do not have bankruptcy to be taken lightly.
The liberals do not have persecuted for promotion.
(Heaven is only the people I've met :)
Missing crowds make you lonely.
You start to complain about all the people you meet.
But nobody listens to or sympathizes with you because that is exactly what I chose when you were alive.
You may have been tortured because of the enormity of the decisions and responsibilities that surrounded you, and now there is only one thing you yearn for: simplicity.
This is permissible.
So for the next round, you choose to be a horse. You covet the bliss of that simple life.
Suddenly, for a moment, you realize the problem you've overlooked.
The more you become a horse, the more you forget the original desire.
Forget how it felt to be a human who wonders how it felt to be a horse.
You cannot estimate a destination without knowing the starting point.
You cannot enjoy simplicity unless you remember the alternatives.
This is not the worst part of your life.
You realize that the next time you get back here, with a horse's thick brain, you won't have the power to ask to become human again.
You will not understand what a human is.
Your choice to slide down the intelligence ladder is irreversible.
Your choice to slide down the intelligence ladder is irreversible.
And before losing your last human capabilities, pondering painfully about any wonderful creature outside the planet Earth, intrigued by the idea of finding a simpler life, chose in the final round to become human.
The brave is not able to deal with the big face, but the brave is the one who can deal with its absence.
You are much better at seeing the truth about others than you have ever been in seeing yourself.
So, you have navigated your life with the help of others who have carried mirrors for you.
People praised your good qualities and criticized your bad habits, and these perspectives - which often surprised you - helped guide your life.
God said, “Respect I once was obedient. So I came here for the same reason why doctors wear long white uniforms. They are not doing it for their benefit, but for yours.”
