The soul is born out of the flesh. The spirit inhabits the body, but is in truth its child. Thus, due to the life-bond of parent and child, when the mind dies, the body is soon to follow. The carcass is a vessel and vestige that can be left behind. But whence did one come from, and where does one go after?
Every being, at some point in their life, realizes its worthlessness. That all prior acts amounted to very little, and perhaps was better off never put to practice. The newborn is sensitive to the surroundings, but in time grows used to it. But that alone is the matter of the fleshy body. What of the soul?
When the soul encounters difficulties, it comes to appreciate its decay further. At a certain moment in its existence, it comprehends its approaching limit. Every creature knows when it should die. Beyond all respite or regret, it is now the time to end what was once beautiful.
All life is originally exquisite, yet it grows discolored in due time. Never forget that everything comes with an expiration date. Not only the trees and leaves of grass, but the mortal soul as well. Indeed, the soul is mortal. There is no denying it. It dies with the bodily self, and cannot escape its fate.
The question that puzzles all of creation is when to die. The method will be made clear when it is time, but the exact moment remains a mystery. Alive one second, dead the next. But it doesn't have to be this risky and random.
Mankind has a choice. A choice in this detestable dilemma. The moment to die can be chosen by the self. The question now becomes a different 'when'. Not a 'when' that is plagued with doubt and uncertainty, but a 'when' purged of chaos and filled with curiosity for the right timing.
I have found it. The pristine eventuality. One must die when one is happy. One must disappear lest one suffer yet again. As the seasons leave and return, so does happiness. It might have been gone for quite a while but one day it will return. And it is on that occasion you must end it all. To die a smiling man.