When did you most feel alive?

Something struck me today; When fate claims us, it is said that our lives flash before our eyes; in seconds…minutes…our whole life…all the moments that mattered.
So in that short phase, surely we must feel alive. Reliving every time in our life that we felt crazy, that changed us, defined us. To feel so unconditionally alive as life slips from our grasp; bodies weakening, breathing slowing, heart beat fading…

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Is it not crazy then, that we feel most alive when our bodies seem to forget how to live?
Remember your first kiss. Did you have butterflies making your stomach ache? Anticipation running through your veins? A hopeless desperation for perfection?
Now think of the exact moment it happened. The kiss that made your knees weak. Took away your breath. Heart miss a few beats…
How alive did you feel? Crazy right? Like a drug that is slowly killing you so effortlessly, but you’d happily make it your sole substance for survival.
So isn’t it amazing how that kiss, all the clichés of the kiss, mimic the description of one’s passing.
Look back; “weak”, “breathing, “heart beats”.

Let’s take another example. Adrenaline junkies. They do these crazy things again and again; literally tempt fate to take them…and yet here they still are. Suit up in all the protective gear required. Buckle up. Soar high into the sky…then jump.
Plummet to Earth. Feel the wind rushing past your face as gravity plays with your body. Face the possibility that this is it. If the parachute fails, you will be nothing more than a scar on some people’s lives…
It opens. You land. You breath for the first time since you jumped. Now tell me that didn’t make you feel bitterly alive! You defeated science. You overcame fear and fate! And you’d do it again…your heart is racing after missing so many beats. Your breath is coming too hard and fast for your body to cope. And your legs are jelly. You feel alive!

Ironic then; the things that make us feel most alive, also make us feel like it’s the end.

Does this mean there is some perfection in endings? When the harshest partings pain us to our core, is there not some beauty in feeling somewhat alive from the pain?

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