The funny thing people forget is the magic of this world and universe: despite the numbers, you do matter. However, you are the one that must make yourself matter.
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A scarred heart, when healed, is a beautiful heart.
The Hollowness of Horcruxes
I had a very warm thought the other day, involving something everyone familiar with Harry Potter probably knows about: the horcrux.
Please bear with me, as it takes a little bit to get to the point.
For those not familiar with the Harry Potter series, a brief explanation: a horcrux is one of the darkest forms of black magic. To create a horcrux, one imparts a piece of one’s own soul into some inanimate object. To get that piece of the soul is the darker part: one has to twist their soul to such a sickening degree that they can literally tear it apart.
The reason for making a horcrux is to grant oneself a limited form of immortality. As long as no one tries to destroy the horcrux, it pretty much lasts forever. If one was devious and dark enough (say, a Lord Voldemort) to scatter pieces of his soul throughout a variety of horcruxes, and they were to be gathered together, one could reform an incomplete form of themselves.
Now, by creating a horcrux, you are destroying yourself (as you are literally tearing your soul to pieces). Do it enough times, and it will show—insanity being a clear sign. While you are ensuring a form of immortality, you are destroying yourself in the process.
Now…for something completely different.
Let’s look at simple Love. And let’s look at a simple example of that in the series, a non-magical example: Dumbledore.
In the Harry Potter series, Dumbledore is one of the world’s greatest wizards ever…who just happens to be killed off in one of the later books by Voldemort (who had been brought back through the use of his horcruxes).
This might seem like a horrible, atrocious thing—evil triumphing over good, even if only temporarily.
But there is one thing we cannot forget: Dumbledore loved. He loved Harry, he loved all his students, he loved Hogwarts…he loved, period. In everything he loved, he left a small piece of himself.
Rather than inanimate objects, he left a small piece of his soul in living hearts and souls. In doing so, he filled the souls of others…and filled his own soul, rather than tearing it apart. Instead of weakening his soul, thrashing it into frothing bits and pieces of insanity with ill-used magic, he strengthened his very being by just loving.
And then he died.
And yet, he was still there. Like the bits of soul in a horcrux, the imprints and pieces of himself that Dumbledore left in others could never completely replace the true original, the true source.
But nevertheless, he lived on—and in a stronger way than a bit of soul in a horcrux ever could. Horcruxes are inanimate, dead, a shred of suffering in the guise of the ordinary. To love, to be remembered, to live on in the heart of another…your thoughts, actions, and memories forever live on in the beating heart of another, whose soul acts with your own life pumping through their lifeforce, is true Magic.
When we watch Voldemort and Co. take on Harry Potter and his lively crew, it may look like a dark time: evil rising once again, escaping even the jaws of mortality itself, only to throw the very symbol of all that is good into the oblivion of death…
But looks are deceiving. In the final showdown, Voldemort stands there with a broken soul, his entirety of existence focusing on a single point: Harry Potter.
Harry, on the other hand, stands not only with his own soul whole, shining out against the darkness, but the strength of every soul who has ever loved him, past and present, deepening the strength of his wholeness, with all of his loved ones on his mind and in his heart.
And he, by loving, will live on in the souls of all he loved.
Expecto Patronum.
(Note: Please forgive any mistakes I make…I’ve only read the first three books so far, and haven’t seen any of the movies…most of the information I lack comes from wiki articles that I’m remembering off the top of my head right now.)
…and miles to go before we sleep.
Sometimes, when something doesn’t end, it can be even sadder…there may not be such thing as a happy ending, but a relieved ending? A peaceful ending? Possibly.
And remembering that an ending is only the beginning of something new, maybe a happy start is no more than a happy ending in disguise.
The Explorer of Wine-Dark Seas
In Greek mythology, Prometheus (i.e. “Forethought,” the father of humanity, who brought fire to humankind) had a son by the name of Deucalion. This name comes from a combination of δεύκος, which a form of the word meaning “sweetness” (more specifically “sweet new wine”) and ἁλιεύς, meaning “sailor, seaman, fisher.”
Together, Deucalion would mean something along the lines of “sailor of sweet new wine.”
This may seem to be a strange name at first…but to understand it, you must understand the ancient Greek perspective. The seas were often described to be “wine-dark” by Greek writers and poets. Thus, to be a “sailor of new wine” is, rather, a sailor of new seas.
Deucalion, in other words, means “explorer.”
Thus, the son of Forethought is Exploration.
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“I’m Jesus?”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
O_O
yesss i found it again! one of my all time favourite reads.
Philosophy went to the max right here
OI SCROLL BACK UP AND READ ALL OF IT!
I was really intrigued by this
Someone else has thought of this too! ^_^ or is it me realizing the same truth in two parts of my own existence? *strokes stache*
Keep calm and carry on.
Wanting to improve yourself is already starting to improve yourself
Sunny days set my heart alight; rainy days calm my soul.
