10. Choose Your Own Adventure: The Afterlife

Author’s note: My sister MaryAnn suggested “the afterlife” as a possible writing topic; “What you believe, and what you’d like to be true.” I was originally going to do just that in more of an essay format, but then the creative writing side of my brain took over and I started writing more of a short story of sorts. I actually don’t know what to classify all that I wrote below. Kind of a short story. Kind of a meditation on what I hope could happen. But one thing I do want to say is that the below “story” is less of “here’s what I actually believe” piece and more of an meditation on some ideas about life and death that I’ve pondered over the years on a (almost literally) daily basis.

What I actually want the afterlife to be doesn’t need an essay or a narrative piece to describe. I want the afterlife to be like an entrance into Knowing and pure Love. That’s it. I don’t need my corporeal form to exist. I don’t need to “see” my loved ones. I don’t even need there to be a God or Goddess up there. I just want to melt into the everything’ness of it all. That’s it.

But we don’t know what happens and the great mystery is kind of what keeps me going every day. One of my favorite actors gave what I think is the best answer about what happens when we die:

I don’t think we die. I don’t think we have an understanding of the divine concept of Time. I don’t think we’re any more capable of understanding a clock than a dog is. I think there’s something much bigger going on than we’re aware of in our day-to-day routines. So I don’t think I have the intelligence or the DNA make up to be able to answer that question.

Ethan Hawke answering Stephen Colbert’s “The Colbert Questionert”

That’s freaking “it” for me. Not knowing. We don’t know what happens. I’d only add a “…so be empathetic and be kind” to the end of that. When confronted with confusion or not knowing or even chaos, “be kind.”

The following is more-or-less a short story, inspired by Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael (in format), but with a heaping dose of MAD Magazine thrown in for full Matthew McKibben’ness.

Choose Your Own Adventure; The Afterlife

The last things Corey heard before he was thrown from his car were the sounds of his front collision warning activating over the sound of screeching brakes and the sound of R.E.M.’s “The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite” playing over the speakers. Then there was the unmistakable sound of crunching metal, causing the car to brutally jerk to the left and then flip over. His shoulder broke the driver side window glass, but his head wasn’t far behind. And then the sweet sound of the wind blowing through his ears.

He flew in one direction. The phone he was checking flew in another. “Oh damn,” he thought. “I never got to ‘laugh’ react to that text I was just checking.” His phone slammed into the ground, shattered into 3 pieces, and then slid into a curb. Half a second later, so did Corey. He thought it was going to hurt more.

He found himself face down on the ground, his face half buried in tall wet grass. Mr. Fight or Flight, the part of his brain that had kept him fighting and on alert for 45 years, tried to keep Corey here and present. Just lie here, but you need to stay awake. Take a breath. This isn’t it. Someone will call for an ambulance. We don’t end here on this road like this. But Mr. Anxiety, the other part of his brain that had always been more vocal and present, knew better and put Mr. Fight or Flight into a sleeperhold. You dumb motherfucker… Look at us! I told you this was going to happen. I’ve been warning us for years. He just had to reach for that phone, didn’t he? We would have been home in less than ten minutes. Now look at us; crumpled up on the grass like a smashed soda can. Corey attempted to physically force himself to take a breath, but his body was too broken. I’m getting sleepy, Mr. Fight or Flight yawned. HAHAHAHA WE WON! WE WON! WE… won,” exalted Mr. Anxiety. …but then he also started to fall asleep. NO yes YOU we DIDN’T did.

Corey was dying.

To see the Atheist view of what happens next, go to Option 1
To see the Cosmological view of what happens next, go to Option 2
To see the comical take on Bardo, go to Option 3
To see Hell, Option 4

————————————————

OPTION 1: Not full Atheist, more Atheish

First there was calm. And then there was silence. And then, as if lying in a bathtub filling with warm water, there was ascension. The cold grass gave way to the cool night air and then a warmness that washed over him like a wave. “Is this heaven,” he wondered. “No… it’s Iowa.” One final flicker of a neurotransmitter and it went full Costner. Typical. A brain trained for years to constantly reference pop-culture going out with one last reference for an audience of none. Corey felt as if he were floating and turned around in midair to view his body lying on the ground below him. If Corey had been more with it, he would have wondered if this was the next step or just his brain playing a massive trick on him. But that side of his brain was long gone. He was simple brain impulses and glands and a deprived state of oxygen. The serotonin flowed through his body one last time and he felt warmness all over. And then there was nothingness.

A week later, Corey’s loved ones gathered at the most moderately priced funeral home his mom could afford. His brother and sisters gave good eulogies that made the attendees both laugh and cry. They listened to his favorite music and reminisced about funny or memorable things Corey had done in life. He was buried under a peach tree in a grave outside Atlanta, his home for most of his life. Over the following 20 years, his body decomposed rapidly and became one with the soil. Four decades later, the last person who remembered Corey died in her sleep, and thus Corey died once more. The peach tree he was buried under stopped producing fruit 15 years after his death, but stood for another 100 years.

———————————————-

OPTION 2: Luminous Beings Are We

This wasn’t nothingness. This was Jupiter with its massive red spot swirling violently and relentlessly as it always has below him. To Jupiter’s left spun Io. Off in the distance were both Ganymede and Europa, brilliantly reflecting the sunlight that began its journey 460 million miles from this place. This place? Oh yes… this place. This place was familiar. He had returned home to the exact spot where had had last left it.

Remember this place?

“I do,” the energy that was once Corey answered. “It looks as incandescent and magnificent and violent as it ever did.”

Truly. I never get tired of it.

“Nor do I. It’s my favorite spot from which to depart for earth.”

Earth? Where is it right now? The energy that was once Corey looked off into the darkness towards a shiny blue sparkling dot in the distance.

How was it?

“It was frustrating,” the energy that was once Corey answered. “Truly frustrating… but at times magnificent. Y’all really threw a lot at us this time.”

You know that’s not how it works up here, right? We only monitor.

Corey nodded. “I don’t know… some of the stuff we had to deal with didn’t feel exactly like our doing. But I understand. But still, there were times when I really felt close to getting…” the energy that was once Corey paused. “Close to getting the point of it all.”

It’s okay. To get close but not get there… that can be disappointing. But do you feel like you actually trekked hard this time? Did you put in the work?”

“I did. At least, I like to think I did.”

Well if you started the journey and trekked hard this time… That in and of itself is enough. That’s sometimes the hardest piece.

“Maybe next time.”

Or the 100 millionth time.

“Yes right. Or the millionth. It’s slowly coming back to me.”

What about them? What can you tell us about them?

“Oh you know… The same dichotomy as always; a chaotic mix of terror that rips your heart out but also beauty that makes you weep. Same as it ever was.”

Once in a lifetime?

“You know it?”

Huh?

“Huh?”

What?

“What? You said the name of the song!”

I did?

“You did!”

You know how we do it here. Letting the days go by and all.

“I KNEW IT” Corey replied, and started to pretend to chop on his spirit arm.

But are they any closer to getting it? To achieving the imperfect harmony we think they’re capable of? At least from your vantage point?

“Sometimes. There was a moment where it seemed like we were really, really close. And then it all slipped away.”

Are you ready to go back or do you need a recharge?

“I could go back now, but can I see a blackhole first?”

Oh you know better than that. Even we don’t venture too close to those.

“Yes… Then how about another star then?”

A star. haha There are trillions of those and you’ve seen so many already. We’ve got something much better than that brewing not too far from here. Ever seen a nebula up close? Come with me.

———————————————

Option 3: Invoices and Net-30

The nothingness gave way to a long hallway, at the end of which were two double-doors, either partly cracked open or broken so incapable of fully closing. Corey knew what was next. This wasn’t his first time here. Walking through the doors, he was greeted by a woman wearing a lime green shirt with “Hola Beaches” emblazoned on the front.

“First time or repeat guest,” she asked?

“Repeat guest,” Corey responded.

“You know the drill then,” as she handed him a slip of paper with a number on it.

Corey scanned the room for an empty seat. There were a couple empty seats in the back between an old man with a warm half smile on his face and between a teenager who looked like he regretted something that happened not all that long ago.

“Welcome to Bardo… again,” the greeter said as Corey sighed.

Corey sat down and looked at his number. It had both commas and zeroes in it. “Time is all relative here,” Corey reassured himself.

The nice old man to his right smiled and scooted over a little bit, making more room for Corey to sit comfortably. The teen to his left jumped a little when Corey accidentally grazed his leg with his hand. He looked at his number one more time and then to the monitor on the wall listing what number was next. Not even close.

“Been here long,” Corey asked the older gentleman?

“Oh yes… long time,” he answered. “In fact, they called my number ages ago. I’m thinking of waiting a little longer for my love to get here. We were both old. I went first and I bet he’s not far behind. This isn’t my first go ’round and I’d like to be here to greet him in case it’s his. I can tell by how calm you are that this isn’t your first time so you know how confusing this place can be.”

“Oh yes, I definitely remember those first few times. I’m on round…,” Corey paused to think. “Round eight at this point? No… that can’t be right.” But it was.

The older gentleman smiled. He leaned over and spoke gently. “Round twenty.”

“Twenty? Wow!”

“Two more rounds on the punch card and I get a free FroYo.”

Corey laughed but he’d heard that joke before.

The old man leaned in even further and whispered. “I think the lad next to you… I think he might be a first timer.”

Corey looked over to him and was met with a look of frightened confusion. The old man leaned forward so he could see him better. “Don’t worry, young man. This all seems very disorienting and confusing and at times intense, but this is just a way station. The end result of this place? It’s all really beautiful ultimately.” He paused. “…or it can be.”

The young boy looked to the ground. The old man continued. “Want to know a secret? A secret I wish I knew on my first go through here?”

The boy smiled nervously and nodded. “The number you’re holding in your hand… it doesn’t mean anything. You’re number 35,583 and they’re only on number 206. Just close your eyes and think of your number. When you open your eyes, it’ll be your turn.”

Oh wow, Corey thought to himself. Round 8 and you learn something new each time. Corey looked at his number. He closed his eyes and thought of his number; 1,563,080.

He opened his eyes in time to hear, “Number 1,563,080… go to stall 50, please.” The old man was no longer next to him, replaced by a woman holding her young baby. The boy was still there, but was older, wiser, and had a bemused look on his face. “Welcome back,” he said.

Confused, Corey stood up and was about to walk to stall 50 when he turned back to the older boy. “How long did I have my eyes closed?”

“Long enough for me to already have come back through a couple times. That old man… his partner ended up coming through not long after you closed your eyes and I learned something really lovely as I watched them embrace.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

The boy smiled. “I learned that I wanted to get back and find my person worth waiting for. But what I discovered through my case worker is that I was waiting for myself. And now I can’t wait to get back to see what’s waiting for me.”

“Your case worker said that? That’s some good shit,” Corey said.

“Some good shit indeed.”

Corey walked to stall 50 and sat down. Sitting across the counter and typing into a computer was his case worker.

Hello again.

“Hello.”

Do you remember the drill?

“I do. You’ll give me the answers to the questions I had last time, but can’t answer the questions I have this time.”

Correct.

“Why exactly?”

You ask that every time and every time I say the same thing. ‘Because this is a ladder not an elevator.’

“But what does that mean?”

Anywhoooo… I have the questions your previous self wanted to know. Are you sure you want these answers? You were in a bit of a mood last time and some of these answers are…

“Just give them to me.” Corey was handed an invoice and as he began reading it over, the voice continued.

Answer 1 to your previous question: Yes, we keep a tally on everything you do and it’s all on the invoice. How many times you were mad. How many times you laughed. We even have the number of breaths you took. You asked last time for us to prove it, so you wanted to know how many times you “jacked it,” your words not mine. You masturbated a lot. The year you died, you… the previous you, that is, you were 38 years old but “jacked it” about as much as a 16 year old boy who just discovered how to do that.

Corey blushed.

To answer your follow up question; no we don’t care, nor do we watch. That isn’t the scene up here.

“What else?”

Answer 2 to your previous self’s questions: Ghosts aren’t real, at least not in the way you think. When you die, you die. This place kind of operates like a giant magnet and no energy gets left behind, even if it wanted to.

“But you said ‘at least not in the way you think.’ What of that?”

We do allow some folks to visit on occasion. But it’d be kind of a stretch to call them ghosts. We aren’t exactly walking around slamming doors or knocking books off shelves.

“Yeah?”

When we allow people to go down there, they can’t really intervene in any capacity. We don’t help you find lost hats or help you on exams and we’re not sitting in those empty chairs you leave for deceased loves ones at ceremonious events.

“Well that kind of sucks, to be honest.”

But does it? Life is for the living. Your brains are amazing computers. Make no mistake about it, your souls are 100% real. Just because we aren’t there, doesn’t make any of what you’re experiencing any less real or vital.

“But hold on… I’ve both experienced or heard about too many spiritually serendipitous moments for it all to just be … our brains formulating patterns from nothing.”

Look… I may work here but even I don’t have all the answers. Only the keepers of The Scale know all. Me and my peers have long speculated that perhaps those who finally get to pass through here for the next phase instead of going back for rebirth leave a trail of sorts. …and that trail filters back to y’all somehow in a non-quantifiable way. But I do know for a fact that we aren’t there meddling.

“Okay what else did I want to know last time?”

Answer 3 to your previous self’s questions: You wanted to know how close you came to dying that go ’round. You actually came close to dying twice. Once when your friend invited you over and you had a migraine… it turns out had you gone over, you would have played with your friend’s dad’s gun and accidentally shot yourself. The second time involved choking to death in the parking lot of a McDonald’s. Had you not decided to instead sing along to House of Pain’s “Jump Around” on the radio that day, you would have choked to death instead of…

“…instead of accidentally spilling my Dr. Pepper all over my food.”

Correct. Yep yep yep.

“Anything else I wanted to know last time?”

Answer 4 to your previous self’s questions: One last thing you asked about was the idea of soul mates. I want to keep this brief. You won’t retain this… no one retains anything said here. It’s built into the process… Soul mates do not exist. There are over 8 billion souls on earth right now and everyone’s souls are already connected on a frequency you couldn’t even begin to imagine. But the idea of romantic soul mates? Do you really think we’d be so cruel as to just put 1 or 2 people out there that you could work with romantically? The kind of “she’s made for me” energy between souls is all in your heads. Again, I don’t know why I’m telling you this because you will not retain any of this upon reBirth, but here’s what you do… you find someone you like talking to. You find someone with common interests. You find someone you look to share things with and who does the same for you. You find someone who you understand and who understands you. You look for someone who, even at their worst, you still couldn’t imagine not seeing… The number of people out there who would fit that bill? It’s way way way higher than you’d think. You just have to be open enough to find that out. If it feels like magic, it is magic, even if it’s not really magic. Got it?

“Now what?”

What do you want to ask for next time?

Corey sat back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “You know what? I think I’m going to skip the questions this time.”

That’s the most refreshing thing I’ve heard in a while. Freewheel it. But truth be told, I do need to put at least one question into the database. It’s a requirement. It can be literally anything.

“Does beer before liquor actually make you sicker?”

*sigh* You know what… just… just go. Take your receipt to the Return Processing help desk, and ask for the ID-10T form.

“See you next time.”

Yes, you will.

———————————————–

Option 4: Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

Nothingness gave way to the sound of Collective Soul’s “Shine” playing in a dimly lit room.

Corey: Is this Hell?

The Devil: Greetings. I’m the devil and welcome to H-E-double hockey sticks.

Corey, laughing: The devil are you fucking serious?

The Devil: Yeah, laugh it up, you’re the one in Hell, dude.

Corey: Fair enough. But I was kind of partially convinced this place didn’t even exist.

The Devil: Yeah, well it really doesn’t, but the creator of this whole story kind of needed it to exist for Option 4, so here we are. …in Hell, where the music of Collective Soul, Rush, and Styx play 24/7 365 for alllllll of eternity.

Corey: Wait, back up… who the fuck is the creator you mentioned earlier? What is “option 4?” And why are we suddenly in ‘play format’ for all of this dialogue?

The Devil, placing a finger over Corey’s mouth: Shhhhhhhhh.

Corey: So… what is this place then? Is this where bad people go? Is Hitler here? AM I GOING TO SEE CHARLES MANSON?

The Devil: No, no, no… it’s not like that. This place does suck, but Hell is just one more place that people can stop off in while they cycle through the metaphysical bullshit of “everything’ness.“

Corey: So, what makes this place any different from the other places in the afterlife? I mean, other than the lake of fire over there?

The Devil: Hey, that isn’t what you think it is. All the hoity toity afterlife gods and goddesses bogart all the usual water sources. “Oooh you think the Pacific Ocean is sooooo special and connects you to God, do you?” How fucking original of you. Noooo one’s ever had that thought before? Try spending an eternity with the Cuyahoga River.

Corey: Oh is Randy Newman down here?

The Devil: He’s not dead, dude.

Corey: Okay, so the music here is mildly annoying and there’s the Cuyahoga River on fire over there, but for real, what sets this place apart?

The Devil: At least I don’t think Randy Newman is dead. *finger through a Rolodex* Nope not dead.

Corey: What sets this place apart then?

The Devil: What sets this place apart is me, the devil. And what sets me apart is I can’t tell a lie and I can’t sugarcoat anything. There are no riddles or mysterious commentaries on the state of right/wrong or blah blah blah. You want the truth of it all, you come here.

Corey: Oh this can be fun… Let’s start with an easy one. What does happen to truly bad people like Hitler? Where do they go when they die?

The Devil: They get recycled immediately back to earth, but they come back as a cockroach or a leech or like a bottom feeding fish. Like *snap fingers* immediately back.

Corey: Kind of makes me feel bad for cockroaches.

The Devil: You guys are so freaked out when the scary cockroaches fly right towards you but if you only knew that they were little Stalins and Pol Pots and Ty Cobbs running across your walls.

Corey: Wow. So they do that a few times?

The Devil: Or a few million. It takes a long time to upgrade to something like a rat or a squirrel. Rush Limbaugh never learned. Think about that next time you’re squashing a cockroach under your heel. What else you got?

Corey: Okay… let’s see. Let’s go to me and my life. I never really felt like I was living my best life. I worked a job I was only marginally okay at for only marginally okay pay. What was the job that was my passion… that I would have loved?

The Devil: I get this one alllllll the time and here’s the straight up truth. Yes, should you get a chance to go back, you should find a career path that suits your talents and suits your interests but you all place way way waaaay too much emphasis on that Oprah style “work your passion” shit. The world needs brick layers, delivery drivers, aisle stockers at grocery stores, and yes, accountants. You may not think your job was worthwhile, but who fucking does? Academy Award winning actors can have low self esteem, too. You put food on the table. You found other ways to get your “passions” out into the world. So you weren’t John Steinbeck. There was only one John Steinbeck. There’s only one you. …or there was only one you. You’re dead now.

Corey: Not cool to bring Oprah into this though.

The Devil: Don’t get me started on her. She’s actually more evil than I am. What else you got? There are a lot of you coming through and I have a busy schedule.

Corey: Okay, last one. Was I ever close in life to getting to a Truth? That was something I was always interested in.

The Devil: Remember that time you got insanely fucking stoned with your brother and thought you had figured out God?

Corey: Yeah, we smoked way too much, listened to way too much Godspeed You! Black Emperor, melted into the couch, and…

The Devil, cutting him off: And you thought in figuring God out, you were going to be literally blinked out of existence. That your past would be erased… that anyone who knew you would never have realized you were gone because you. never. existed. at. all. I gotta say, that level of paranoia was 100% because of the weed.

Corey: That really sucked. But I wish now I could remember what we had figured out about God.

The Devil: This one’s easy. You thought this: If man is feeble. If man is weak. If man has doubts and fears and crippling anxieties that keep him awake at night. If man is corruptible and capable of violence and real genuine shock you to your core levels of Evil… then what does that say about God that man is created in God’s image?

Corey: FUCKING HELLLLLLLLL.

The Devil: Exactly right. Welcome to Hell. See you around.

*Styx’s “Come Sail Away” starts playing over the speakers*