In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was a color—red. Red represents life and death, both united in the same space, a drop of blood, enough to create a new life, enough to bring death and pain as soon as we realize we are not immortals.
Our blood is a cycle of life and death, which in the wild means survival. For us as domesticated animals, it becomes a matter of awareness, consciousness of good and evil. It’s true—through our veins runs the blood that makes us capable of creating or destroying, of loving or fearing. We can blame our genes or our parents for passing the curse of death to us, but today’s death only brings tomorrow’s life.
Then if we are fated to death since birth as part of this cycle, why are so alienated to death?
M. Ch. Landa