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| Image: Teece Aronin |
"My father," he said, "may never die. He isn't going gently into that good night, nor is he raging. He simply ignores Death."
That was more than 10 years ago, so my guess is that Death has gotten that man's attention by now.
I used to fear that there is no afterlife, dooming me to sputter out like a candle. Now, I see things differently, and my reasoning is this:
1. Either I go to Heaven, or I don't. Either way, I'm probably fine because I think I've lived the kind of life likely to get me in. But if Heaven doesn't exist, I won't know the difference - unless, by some oversight in the recordkeeping, I go to the other place.
If Heaven doesn't exist, I doubt Hell does, or Purgatory, for that matter. Then again, I suppose there could be an afterlife that's not Heaven or Hell or Purgatory. If it's not Hell or Purgatory, that would be great, but if it's not Heaven, that could be bad, especially since we're talking about an eternity of something other than Heaven. If by some chance, there's an afterlife that isn't eternal, I might have to die all over again, which seems totally unfair. Then where will I be?
Wait - these are supposed to be reasons I'm not worried, so let me back up.
2. If there is no afterlife, as I said before, I won't know that. My awareness will be the same as before I was conceived: zilch. Before I came to be on Earth, I wasn't trailing God all over Heaven, nagging Him like a toddler to hurry up and give me life on Earth. My fear of death was predicated on the notion that I would be miserable after death, but that would require an awareness of my lack of life, which means that I would have to be conscious and existing in an afterlife. Then again, I could be in Purgatory or Hell. Ugh.
3. I'll get to play the harp, and when presented with the prospect of acquiring a new skill, such as harp-playing, I refuse to sweat little details like how I will suddenly know how to play a harp.
4. After I die, I get access to the vault where they store the answers to Earth's unsolved mysteries, such as why John Lennon ever let Yoko Ono sing.
One thing that still bothers me, though, is that many of the words we use to describe the state or process of no longer living all sound so death-y.
Rather than die, I'd prefer to plooze, and I think we should replace the word death with plooze and dying with ploozing.
Let's test plooze out by using it in a sentence, shall we? "Did you hear about Frank? He ploozed last year after a fall."
Doesn't that sound better, like Frank slipped and took an unexpected trip down a slide at a waterpark?
I was joking, but now I'm being serious:
I used to fear that there is no afterlife, dooming me to sputter out like a candle. Now, I see things differently, and my reasoning is this:
1. Either I go to Heaven, or I don't. Either way, I'm probably fine because I think I've lived the kind of life likely to get me in. But if Heaven doesn't exist, I won't know the difference - unless, by some oversight in the recordkeeping, I go to the other place.
If Heaven doesn't exist, I doubt Hell does, or Purgatory, for that matter. Then again, I suppose there could be an afterlife that's not Heaven or Hell or Purgatory. If it's not Hell or Purgatory, that would be great, but if it's not Heaven, that could be bad, especially since we're talking about an eternity of something other than Heaven. If by some chance, there's an afterlife that isn't eternal, I might have to die all over again, which seems totally unfair. Then where will I be?
Wait - these are supposed to be reasons I'm not worried, so let me back up.
2. If there is no afterlife, as I said before, I won't know that. My awareness will be the same as before I was conceived: zilch. Before I came to be on Earth, I wasn't trailing God all over Heaven, nagging Him like a toddler to hurry up and give me life on Earth. My fear of death was predicated on the notion that I would be miserable after death, but that would require an awareness of my lack of life, which means that I would have to be conscious and existing in an afterlife. Then again, I could be in Purgatory or Hell. Ugh.
3. I'll get to play the harp, and when presented with the prospect of acquiring a new skill, such as harp-playing, I refuse to sweat little details like how I will suddenly know how to play a harp.
4. After I die, I get access to the vault where they store the answers to Earth's unsolved mysteries, such as why John Lennon ever let Yoko Ono sing.
One thing that still bothers me, though, is that many of the words we use to describe the state or process of no longer living all sound so death-y.
Rather than die, I'd prefer to plooze, and I think we should replace the word death with plooze and dying with ploozing.
Let's test plooze out by using it in a sentence, shall we? "Did you hear about Frank? He ploozed last year after a fall."
Doesn't that sound better, like Frank slipped and took an unexpected trip down a slide at a waterpark?
I was joking, but now I'm being serious:
If we believe in God, and statistics say more than half of Americans do, it becomes much easier to take another leap and believe in life after death. And then there's this:
About a month after my mother died, I was lying on my bed, eyes closed. My mind was drifting, but I was fully awake, and I wasn't consciously thinking about her. Suddenly, I heard her voice, blossoming with delight, the state of being where she spent much of her Earthly life.
"It is so wonderful!" she said.
"It is so wonderful!" she said.
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