Death and Immortality are Inseparable Lovers

Every child is born with a flame of curiosity to understand a world that is vast, endless and overflowing.

The first great mystery that fractured my world was death, because I had no framework to comprehend it. When I was seven, my father took me to my grandmother’s grave for the first time so I could face reality. What I saw and what it meant left me utterly terrified, and I kept drawing graveyards in art class until my teacher called my parents to confide.

As I grew up, my consciousness was still governed by the idea of death, but my deepest fear was not the end of my body.

It was the end of being remembered.

The end of my ideas that I hoped would outlive me.

I began to suffocate under the thought of leaving no trace of myself behind when my light dimmed. Proving the worth of my existence became my pursuit of purpose, fearing to live a life that dissolved into nothing, as if it had never existed.

My idea of death was tied to the hunger for immortality, for death and immortality are inseparable lovers, each defined by the presence it finds in the other.

When my fear wrapped itself around a desire for achievement, I began claiming a future that was never promised, building myself a life fuelled by expectation.

For a long time that purpose became the shelter I lived in to avoid facing the vastness of uncertainty, because it diminished my sense of control and invited anxiety daily.

During the year I was studying my master’s in the UK, my health worsened, and I began to wake up each day questioning whether I would be able to walk properly. Reaching a state where I couldn’t find the strength to carry on any further, I suspended my master’s and went back to Turkey to seek medical treatment.

It was not death I met, but the loss of my sense of self that made me realise my immortality had already slipped away, lost in the shadows of a life I couldn’t stay. I was no longer the person I once felt proud to be, and only the cries of collapsing ruins lingered from what I used to call a legacy.

The roots of oppression lie in possession.

I wanted to dominate because I feared loss. I accumulated because I feared emptiness. I clung because I feared life’s impermanence. Ownership became a wall I built around myself, and every wall reduced the sky in return.

In truth, nothing in life can be owned, only encountered, held for a moment and released when its time with us ends. Even the face we claim as ours can only be a product of imagination if it were not for our sight.

Ask yourself, when a mirror holds a truth you never imagined, would you turn away from the reflection or from the imagination that shaped you?

You are allowed to say neither because true freedom comes only when the self is released from the burden of having.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedTo own is to anchor oneself to fear.
To let go is to become limitless.

At the time, I had nothing but acceptance as I woke to a life I wished I did not have to endure, every day for four months. One day, a book found its way to me and positioned itself as both a map and an escape plan.

I realised that healing is not the correction of an external problem but an inner revolution when I saw my life through Stefano Elio D’Anna’s lens. The School for Gods teaches that,

“Every disease is a crystallised form of inner disorder.”

My awakening began when I woke up to the truth of my own role in the suffering I brought upon myself. I realised that the only ownership that served my becoming was taking responsibility, refraining me from blaming destiny for forsaking my memory.

Four months later, I randomly called the only hospital I had not tried and got an appointment with a doctor who finally diagnosed me. Within a month, under the right treatment, I had no symptoms remaining.

My healing began with the alignment I reached within, and I owe that to the death of the self that confined me to an identity I was never meant to be fixated.

I mistook the idea of death for diminishing my essence and in doing so I casted aside its shadows that held what I refused to see.

In truth, the idea of death was never there to destroy me but to remind me of the urgency of life. By sharpening longing into clarity and turning desire into motion, it stayed close enough to whisper that one’s life is anchored in time.

“It’s time you realised that you have something in you more powerful and miraculous than the things that affect you and make you dance like a puppet.” – Marcus Aurelius

Author’s note:

Pieces like this ask you to return to places you once survived, to revisit memories that were not easy to face, and to spend many quiet hours shaping them with care. If my writing reached you in any way, I would be grateful if you considered supporting it by upgrading to paid. Your support allows me to keep turning these inner battles into something I can give back, and every paid subscription helps me keep this space alive while I continue creating work with this depth and honesty.

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