In your adult human life, you will feel very many things. You will feel anger, resentment, fury, love, happiness, grief, arousal, and disappointment. You will then feel what no living person can describe, which is how it feels to die.
But what of those times that you feel none of those things? For as colorful as life is, there is an equal amount of dullness. Every summer, coming with its vibrant greens and warm heat, gives way to the death of autumn and the bleak, cold, winter.
I find myself feeling nothing, the weight of my soaring indifference a seeming contradiction to the expression of others and their bright facades of real emotion. But I know that they, like me, feel as much nothing as I do.
But is feeling nothing less impactful than feeling something? Is not the winter equally as punishing and nurturing as the summer? Does the death of autumn not enable the life of spring? We must feel nothing, for the burden of feeling is heavy, and to always feel is to be weighted down, pulled into the dread of forever, no rest, no rest.
The feeling of nothing is not just a place absent of emotion, but rather the end of the emotional scale. The complete opposite end of the scale is what it must feel like to die.