Descendance!

The Avoidance of Transcendance

There is no exit. No escape hatch. No heaven, no reincarnation, no second act where the universe redeems your wasted time. You will die. You will rot. And that will be the end of you. Every project of self-improvement, every discipline, every grand effort toward transcendence—cut short at the neck.

The coward scrambles for a way out. He calls to his gods, hoping they will spare him from the abyss. He kneels, grovels, whispers prayers into the void. He spins comforting myths about eternity, about an afterlife, about cycles that never truly end. He clings to ritual, to doctrine, to some grand meaning that is bigger than himself. He cannot bear the idea that his existence is a brief flash in an indifferent universe. Religion is the great crutch.

But the crutch is not only found in holy books. The crutch is self-pity. The crutch is regret. The crutch is whining about what you cannot control, lamenting the unfairness of the world, sinking into melancholy and passive suffering. The crutch is excuses, every small betrayal of your own power. Every time you say, “It wasn’t my fault.” Every time you say, “I’ll start tomorrow.” Every time you say, “If only things had been different.” These are the words of the crippled soul, the soul that flees from reality, the soul that refuses to stand fully erect in the present moment.

There is no tomorrow promised to you. There is no safety net. One day, you will close your eyes and never open them again. There will be no time left for apologies, no extra years to undo your hesitation, no last-minute transformation into the person you always wished you’d been.

And yet—look at how people live! They tiptoe. They hesitate. They mask their thoughts, speak in riddles, say what they think they ought to say rather than what is true. They dull their days with small comforts, distractions, narcotics of the mind. They avoid confrontation, avoid feeling too much, avoid life itself. They live as if they are rehearsing for something else.

But this is it. The only life you will ever know. The only shot you get. No dress rehearsal. No divine redemption. No celestial scorekeeper rewarding you for good behavior.

The real secret is not transcendence, but descent. To descend fully into life, into all of it—the joy, the rage, the sorrow, the triumph. To feel everything without avoidance, without apology, without a crutch. No side moves, no evasions, no soft illusions to keep you warm at night. Just the raw and brutal magnificence of being alive, here, now, on this day.

Say what you mean. Do what you must. Hold nothing back. Death removes all bullshit, so strip it from your life now.

Live as if you might not see tomorrow—because you might not. Stop waiting. Stop hedging. Stop pretending. Take your stand. Live today. Burn bright, then be gone.