The “me” clings to the idea of life as something fragile, shadowed always by death. Yet there is no possessor, no living self at risk of loss. Life is not personal, and death has no subject. The illusion of being creates the sense of someone alive, only to fear that this someone will die. But if no one is alive, who could ever die? Death is impossible, not because life continues, but because there was never a separate life in the first place. What remains is not survival or extinction—only this, appearing without a living or a dying self.