He said we were running out of time, yet in judging our allowance of dissatisfaction, it seemed to him that we behaved as though we might live forever.
He said that for many of us, death already had taken the majority of our years; that all those behind us were the possession of it.
He questioned why we still seemed to unnecessarily partake in these activities that brought us no fulfillment, no joy, no deep sense of purpose.
Was it because we were denying what had been viewed as ineludible, or was it because of some masochistic sense of obligation?
He asked whether or not many of us spent most of our time doing things we did not enjoy.
There were some solemn head nods, but it was otherwise silent.
He went on to ask why we chose to spend the most valuable resource we possessed, pursuing objects that brought us only fleeting satisfaction.
This question seemed more obviously rhetorical than the last.
He boldly said that he challenged us to acknowledge that we were going to die, and that it would be sooner than later.
The silence became stark.
It was as though the Grim Reality had finally received recognition from a people whom it had desired to advise for a long time.
One could almost feel its satisfaction in the air, yet the crowd remained motionless, listening not moving. It was as though their watches stopped ticking and time stood still; an irony to defy the lesson being taught.
The thought of my terminally ill father flashed into my mind.
He asked what then we were going to do.
He asked if we must still be in a fervent pursuit for more, or if we could appreciate that which we were already in possession.
He encouraged us with the counterintuitive mention that it is this denial of our finite lives that causes the suffering and detriment we experience.
He concluded in saying that if we would only periodically remind ourselves of our inevitable fate, we might be so fortunate to live lives of meager regret.