What is your story
about what happens when your last cell dies and you cross over into whatever you will experience after your final death?
Heaven? Hell? The Bardo? Nothing?
I believe humans need a story about what we can expect after the death of our bodies. As much as we often loathe our bodies, they are our corporeal home on Earth, blue among the Stars. Knowing this home will be taken from us at some unpredictable point is often hard to look in the face. I had a near-death experience early on and have delved into much human thinking on what death is and if anything of me will still exist after my body dies. Call it anxiety management.
Since I am agnostic, I have an individual story whose roots lie in my dearest mother’s ideas about what life is and what will exist after we die.
I was born in 1956 → and I am still going in this post-pandemic year, 2021.
I believe we are energy beings that control our bodies over the time we are alive.
If you watch Deep Space Nine you will see an alien species who are basically energy beings that can shapeshift matter to any form they wish. They can inhabit the material form they create or leave it, upon which time it vanishes and they sink into an ocean comprised of all their currently non-corporal kin.
When I die I hope I sink into a sea of energy forms that power the physical manifestation of the Universe I have experienced while living as a born human.
So, when I die, though I will lose a direct connection into the corporeal community of people, I will be free of animating this matter which will disassociate into its molecular and atomic components. It will sink down into the Earth and the energy form that is me will sink down into whatever exists outside of my biologically-based perception.
In the energy field, all living beings are my kind
in this very large universe
that even all living beings who are born here on planet
Earth, blue among the Stars,
know and love as home.
Somewhere in the great hereafter
live all the folks who have lived and died
here on Earth,
blue among the Stars.
My father lives there.
So does my brother,
so does my mother.
I send these grave flowers to their graves, and to the minds of all those like me
who miss someone who has dissociated
into the soil and their memories,
slowly to fade
but never be forgotten.
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This post was previously published on Medium.
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Photo credit: Author [The Mom Early On (born 1933; died, 2007).]