This is what we do every day. We’re all headed for death. We’re all dead a little bit inside, able to ignore the suffering around us or refuse to change for our own betterment or capable of blotting out the terrible things done in our name (like the Iraq War all of the characters refuse to discuss with A.J.). Rhiannon says that Dylan’s song sounds as if it could have been written today, with a sense of wonder, but she only says that because she flatters herself into thinking her problems are more interesting or unique than anybody else’s, as we all do almost all of the time. Yet beneath all of the petty struggles and mob warfare that drive the plot of season six thrums an insistent terror, a constant mystery that engulfs all of the characters, even if to look at it blinds them. They are going to die. They are already dead. We are going to die. We are already dead.
But, also, we aren’t dead yet. There’s still time to reach out and experience all of the things you’ve missed, to make the most of every moment, to remember the good things. Tony Soprano blinks out, so his time, at least in our terms, is done. But we have this moment and this lifetime, and it will be gone before we know it. What comes after is anybody’s guess, but what we have now is something none of us experience in its fullness every day. The things that seem like they matter often don’t, and the things we lose ourselves in are often the least helpful. Chase leaves us with nothing but the blackness, and he’s giving us space to think, ponder, and consider, not a puzzle to be solved. Embrace the mystery. You’re not dead yet. What are you gonna do about that?