What happens when we die?
No one knows.
Some of us think we know. But we don’t. We have merely chosen to believe one answer or the other.
Sometimes we mistake belief for knowledge. Or truth. But the mistake doesn’t make it so.
Some of us are concerned about the answer to the question. Perhaps worried. Maybe even obsessed.
Moreover, I see no value in obsessing over the question. It’s an unanswerable question. I think time is better spent pondering the ones that potentially can be answered. And make a difference.
I recognize that some people think a lot rides on the answer to the question. Indeed, some people think what happens following death depends entirely on how they live their lives.
It’s a strange way of looking at things. The idea that a creator would put a life form on a planet and then decide what to do with that life form on the basis of how that life form performed against certain criteria over an incredibly short period of time, ranging from a few seconds to 100 revolutions of the planet around its sun, is too big a stretch for me.
That’s not to say it doesn’t matter, how we live our lives, that is. It could. But not necessarily. And, frankly, the evidence that it impacts an afterlife simply isn’t there.
But each of us gets to decide for ourself.
Quite a few us would like to decide for the others. This urge is a constant source of strife and, often, worse things.
That’s too bad. That’s the power of myths. People will do just about anything to live out a story. And it’s not unusual for them to spaz out when other don’t follow.
At this point in my life, I really don’t care what others think about such questions. Generally, they’re easy to ignore.
I know the difference between an answer and a belief. There is a place for both. So long as the distinction isn’t lost.
Some people can’t stand the thought that death could be the end. I’m not sure why. It simply would revert to the way it was pre-birth.
So what happens after death?
I don’t know. And I’m not going to waste any time thinking about it.