Antithesis (an-tith’-e-sis): Juxtaposition of contrasting words or ideas (often, although not always, in parallel structure).
There are a lot of different ideas that people have about everything—maybe more than similar ideas. The opposites of life are always inhabited by peoples’ points of view, no matter how much they may lie to “preserve the peace.” Peace vs. war. You would think, if they weren’t threatened, that war would be the last thing anybody wants. Aside from self-defense, one would think peace is the highest goal imaginable in geopolitics, but again, unless a nation-state is the victim of aggression.
Last night, I was watching Stinger missile strikes leveled against a Russian artillery battery located in Ukraine. The onslaught was merciless, destroying the battery, tanks, helicopters, and killing Russian soldiers fleeing the attack on foot. The “footage” could be fake, and it probably was—a good piece of anime—very realistic. If fake, it is representative of a desire. After all, the Russians invaded a sovereign nation—a democracy with no interest in war. Why shouldn’t we want to see the Russians defeated, blown to hell and sent home in meat wagons?
Thanatos and Eros are in constant conflict. Thanatos always wins in the end. We are conscious of our mortality very rarely—maybe if we’re sick or badly injured. But every day that we’re living, we’re dying. It is just a matter of time. We do what we can to forestall it. There are myriad cons purporting to enable us to prolong our lives. We may be obsessed by “secrets”of longevity—like water from holy springs or “special blends” of whatever.
My secret is to sit on my couch with my cat looking out the window for at least 2 hours per day. (sometimes longer, but never shorter—the cat sleeps through it all). Every day, I try to find something that’s changed outside, and then, put it on the Thanatos/Eros scale. I am looking forward to spring when there’s a whole lot of Eros going on. I live under a flyway that Canada Geese use. Last night the first flock of spring flow over, honking noisily. It sounded like they were saying “life, life, life” as they flew over my garage. What else could they be saying? “Honk?” Maybe. But they’re on their way to build nests, mate with their life partners, lay eggs, raise goslings, and fly South in the Fall.
So anyway, I head into the kitchen to take my supplements, drink two glasses of maple water, and have my pickled beet sandwich for lunch. After lunch, I’ll head out to the garage and smoke five or six cigarettes to balance things out.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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