A woman, on her deathbed, looked at me and was going to say something. For a moment, I was terrified. What if her last words were to me? What if she asked me something deep, and I couldn’t find a satisfying answer to her inquiry? What if, for example, she asked me “what have you done in your days?” But that would be an easy way out because everybody who self-reflects has an answer for this question. What if, instead, she asked me “what to do in this life?” If she asked me that, I would just say: “Learn.” I was wrong about the what-ifs and my imaginary answers to my what-ifs. Here is what she said:
“The realm in which the learner (of good and bad, of life and death, of pleasure and pain) lives is a highly instructive, effective, and binding dialogue. For most, learning is direction and enlightment. Unlearning is part of learning and it violently deconstructs unnoticed. But what have you re-learned? Where is the re-learning? What could you do, if you can’t learn anew?”
I think her point was pretty fresh, considering it was coming so close from the door to death. I am trying to learn what re-learning meant. Maybe I am not ready for re-learning yet. I think it will take some time before re-learning can be done without annihilation or architecture.