Life, no matter how very much alive it may be, is a potpourri of deaths. Death in various reincarnations and phases that occur at various intervals, sometimes even simultaneously, is faced by the everyday man that treads a mortal Earth. The decaying of skin, forgetting, the death of spirit, all but normal and natural kinds.
But the worst of these is the dying of intelligence, the drying up of curiosity, assigning to oblivion entire civilizations of knowledge that could have been grasp by the turning of a page. This is the worst because this in itself is dying before the incoming death. The cessation of an idea is but the most tragic.
And as I sit here, musing and entertaining thoughts of my accounting literature, I've come to fully comprehend the horror of my intellectual drought. I am a directionless boat floating in an ocean of knowledge. I can grasp what's below me but decidedly I didn't. I can grasp what's beyond me but decidedly I didn't. Placidity has ways of conjuring folly and the stagnant state that I am in is decidedly putting me in danger.