{"id":1437,"date":"2023-03-02T09:10:25","date_gmt":"2023-03-02T13:10:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/parmaks.com\/Resources\/thoreau-on-living-through-loss-the-marginalian\/"},"modified":"2023-03-02T09:10:25","modified_gmt":"2023-03-02T13:10:25","slug":"thoreau-on-living-through-loss-the-marginalian","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/parmaks.com\/Resources\/thoreau-on-living-through-loss-the-marginalian\/","title":{"rendered":"Thoreau on Living Through Loss \u2013 The Marginalian"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Profit<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n

\n

\"Thoreau<\/a><\/p>\n

There is cosmic consolation in knowing what actually happens when we die<\/a> \u2014 that supreme affirmation of having lived at all. And yet, however much we might understand that every single person is a transient chance-constellation of atoms, to lose a beloved constellation is the most devastating experience in life. It feels incomprehensible, cosmically unjust. It feels unsurvivable. <\/p>\n

In the final years of his short and loss-riddled life, Henry David Thoreau<\/strong> (July 12, 1817\u2013May 6, 1862) wrote in his diary:<\/p>\n

\n

I perceive that we partially die ourselves through sympathy at the death of each of our friends or near relatives. Each such experience is an assault on our vital force. It becomes a source of wonder that they who have lost many friends still live. After long watching around the sickbed of a friend, we, too, partially give up the ghost with him, and are the less to be identified with this state of things.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\"\"