Reflections on an Anatomy of the Self

People say you shouldn't start a story with action, well those people are wrong because my story does.
Life is action and death is the opposite
Death is nothing and Nothing is absence, so I'm told.
My great grand father lived well a good man making his etching over the earth, good family, solid income, home, wife and kids.
These things he possessed now I suppose the house is withered down, and the wife is gone to dust too I know I was there.
Ashes to ashes dust to dust these words represent a cycle
And what is a cycle but some fanciful sense of immortality.
Yes we shall feed the birds and the worms we will return to the earth.
Will we return will we feel the hard soles of the earth turning us over will
The worms burrow and tickle our arteries or will it sting?
The markings of a life are soft murmurs compared with the eruptions of molten rock and the cries of broken ground as fault lines crash and tsunamis and waves carve into the earth.
These are visible tangible. Perhaps you may claim the world in our head is its own tract of gullies, canyons and volcanoes.
Metaphors for the actions performed and remembered, but are these so easily discernible.
It is so necessary to transcribe it to flesh because flesh is forever.
So life is nothing if not remembered.
Actions till the day we die.
Each day though we die a bit. Each morning we wake somewhat the same but different.
Each moment we lie that before counts. Tomorrow is an eternal blank slate misunderstood more than
the good book, if indeed it should retain such a high accolade.
I started a story about a girl and so it turned into a dissection. I thought by proving something that perhaps I was flawed wrong or mistaken.
It wasn't so much what she said but what she failed to say the absence hit me. It knocked me down and broke something deep how can a thing so close be so ill effected.
We talk of rock as immalleable, but each day I walk I change it a little and the question is did I change her? Did I help her or leave anything behind?
The phrase we are an island springs to life.
Actions are independent of each other and maybe we don't truly control the outcome. I condemn gambling but when have I not gambled or some part to chance?
I said before that life is action my great grand father I'm told was like me now he is dead and his actions are past him. He is here but he is absent he has not left behind eruptions.
He has left life. In both ways it is possible to do so.
Death is absence and absence is nothing. My final wish only that there be something.