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195 For the Dead, It’s Over They’re spared the fretting and the raging that prevent us from surrendering at last to sleep, or paging through the past, or silencing an argument we’re always waging with ourselves like Hamlet in a play we keep re-staging differently each time it plays to let us dream we’re disengaging from whatever fate or fear awaits us in our aging. Because the fear of aging makes us deal with death without a way of disengaging or pretending it’s a dream, we always end by paging God to help us help ourselves and keep us waging our rebellion like an actor near the middle of the final staging of a play that ends before its time and leaves us raging. ...

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