There is a man that doesn’t have to experience tragedy in life in order to gain the wonders of tragedy. Somehow, he is free to experience life deeply, and even when tragedy comes, he can still feel. He stays free to feel.
I have theories about why. Like that he hasn’t been hurt enough to shut down his feelings; he can be open. Or that during the formative years, he was nurtured in such a way that he doesn’t have to fear. But those theories never turn out quite right. The truth is, I don’t know why, but he is different, somehow, than everyone else.
And I suppose there is a little bit of that man in all of us: the part that puts down our defense mechanisms of avoidance or projection or the blame game or intellectualization or whatever defense we are best at using and lets death come in even though it hurts. The part that accepts life the way it really is, even if it only lasts for a moment.
Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.