What, then?

What is death to one who has not escaped the grasp of ignorance and negativity, who has not striven to complicate and simplify his mind and his relations with the else? Opportunity evaporated. But to he who has added layer on layer, to she who has etched an electrochemical pattern into the fluid limestone walls of Plato's chamber, a marker of perspective and purpose, what, then, is death? The ink that lies down to become the line is made impotent by knowledge of the advance of the eraser.