This episode of Mushishi (蟲師) deepened my appreciation for my mother’s continued existence. Unlike those who’ve had the misfortune of losing their mothers at an early age, I’ve had the honor of knowing mine for the last few decades.
Sometimes I take for granted what my mother does for me and the kind of human being she is/was. She works hard every day, complaining a whole lot about life’s trials and tribulations while still miraculously never losing her compassionate heart.
I couldn’t imagine having any other mother besides her.
And that feeling I’m feeling right now brings about thoughts of just how fortunate I am to have been born into this family, with two loving parents and a home I can always return to whenever need be.
In this seemingly vast, random universe, I am living this particular life, with these specific people, in this physical body. Hard to fathom.
I’m not able to eloquently express my feelings; simply put, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that things could’ve turned out differently (in a bad way).
The man in this episode of Mushishi (蟲師), for example, loses his mother at 17:44. At that moment, my thoughts gravitate toward the mother’s intuitive knowledge that she was going to die. How will my final moments be like? Will I know that the end is near? How will I react when I have to finally face oblivion, an eternity of non-existence?
Death is something each of us will experience. It is an event we think is a long ways away, but in reality, it’ll happen much sooner than we expect. Time goes by so quickly. It’s as if the neck of our bottomless hourglasses is only getting wider and wider.
Instead of dumping individual grains one-by-one, handfuls of life’s precious moments are cascading like waterfalls into an existential abyss.
What to do…what to do…
I’ll think about it some more.