We must die in order to survive.
We love ourselves; even more so we love our selves; we love it that we are a self, an I, a person separate from other persons. We cherish our personality, feed it and take pride in it. Selfhood is our first and last commodity; it is our love for the sense of separateness. It is in and with this selfhood that we seek social life; we like social interaction but only insofar as we can still have and preserve our sense of selfhood and our personality. We take offense quickly when this sense of mine and myness is undermined.
This self which is defined as our separate identity, that which we love the most, of course dies when its physical medium is destroyed. As long as we are and we love to be a separate self, as long as I am either a this or a that, I am mortal. I am mortal, for this separate self is nothing but a bundle of perceptions. If I want to have this separate existence, then I must accept that it is revoked by necessity at the moment of death: My existence as self entails my mortality.
But once I cease to call me and mine that which is really never mine, that which is in perpetual flux before the glance of a disinterested onlooker, once I cease to be that separate self and instead become one with totality, that is with the Onlooker, in other words once I lose my separateness and die to the self, I wake up to my immortal nature, to the Eternal Onlooker, to the sole dweller of the void.
Division is the source of all evil.
Separate self is washed up by death but totality is never washed up because it is precisely that which does the washing up, that which contains all that happens but is itself unaffected by all things. I am that.