What is it about death that occupies us so totally? Once we get to 60 or 70 or 80 years old, it is on our mind all the time. (Well, not all the time, but quite often.) No matter if it's smoke and mirrors and floating souls or simply blood and bones and guts, it's there. It skirts the periphery of our consciousness constantly, it's on the edge of our thoughts while at the market, floating in like fog when we're out walking, even creeping along the top of the hedge when we're simply sitting in the backyard. Death. Darkness. Deep-sixed.
Well, of course we are occupied with it: it's the only thing left out there, the last real adventure. Who knows what waits for us after we die? We all hope it's something but what if it's nothing? What if those "after life" experiences we all read about with great hope are nothing but nothing? When we die, is that it?
Or maybe there's something else, something not redemptive but another reality. Something not defined but parallel to our current existence. But probably not.
No answers here, of course, just more ruminations. We wish that those who have died could give us a sign of their not-yet-vanished presence and I believe that they often do. But we mortals are not always paying enough attention to catch those small signs, and that's okay. One cannot be on the alert 24-7 for something that might not exist.
That's it. Settle the scores that seem unresolved to you just in case you die tonight. The last thing a soul wants is to exit this physical world with debts unpaid and love unrequited. Or so I think. But again, who knows?
