So, is it a preferable alternative in your mind to fear the future, living into your final days only to realize how much you could have done in your youth, and yet you decided to put your own sense of mediocrity over your ambitions. Have you found what you seek in life? Have you discovered a purpose in your own time, or did somebody try to choose it for you? Will you go off into the dark on your own, believing that you can survive perpetual darkness without the help of someone close to you? Did you wake up today? How many people didn't? How many people died in there sleep last night but you woke up, but no, you prefer to sit on this wonderful blue marble full of miracles and you tell me you're bored.
Have you made a friend whom you can talk your feelings to? If not, why?
Have you found your purpose without somebody else finding it for you? If not, why?
Have you made some sort of accomplishment that made an impact on the lives of others? If not, why?
Did you accomplish your goals despite others telling you it's not obtainable? if not, why?
Before you enter The Buried Sea, these are some of the questions you will be asked. When you lie on your deathbed and the beings which dwell there knock upon your door, will you regret the decisions which you made, or will you wish you made more decisions? Is it nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune, or to rise up against it, and therefore, better it?
You see, The Buried Sea itself has no intrinsic meaning, only that which you give it. Whether it represents a glorious blessing and guarantee of an afterlife, or it represents an endless abyss which contains no glimmer of possible recovery. When you sink into the depths of it, will you see nothing more than nubilous torrents or will you see halcyon waters of pulchritude? The human mind on it's own is responsible for the ensual of The Buried Sea.
Do you truly exist? Ask yourself, what functions of the human body are controlled by you, or are merely automatic. Do you even exist? The action of blinking or walking is purely mechanical, as if written into some amassed journal named 'you'. You do exist, because even if everyone else on this planet is some sort of cruel fabrication, you think, so you exist.
