Our own epilogues

THE QUESTION: Do you believe there is an afterlife, and why?



I’m just not sure how it would work.


There have to be answers out there somewhere…
Because I want to know why.
Why can’t dogs live to be 70? And how come there are so many bugs? I mean, do we have to have over 3,500 different types of mosquitoes out there?
Why does it take some kind of tragedy to make us realize how important people are to us? And how come we don’t love as hard as we canall the time? Is that some kind of a cruel lesson we’re supposed to learn? If so, I still don’t think I’m getting it right.
And while we’re at it – what are dreams anyway? 
So. Many. Questions.
Why was everything so urgent at 15 and now that I’m 49 all I want is to laugh and sleep and have someone read to me? And how come I’m so tired all the time?
And music? My God. What is it about music that makes you feel so much?
Why is life more bittersweet than happy? And how come we tend to walk the same exact path every day instead of being brave enough to go where our hearts lead us?
But most of all, why do we all think someone else out there has it all figured out? And how come absolutely no one does?
If I sound frustrated — it’s because I am.
There have to be answers somewhere out there…



No. I like the idea the people I love, now dead, have an eye on what I do. But it’s my story composed to make me feel better when they’re gone. I revere the environment. I like the live green leaves, going crimson and gold, then decomposing underfoot. I can’t imagine animals so finely evolved to their habitat they survive in brutal conditions are less worthy of a god’s beneficence. There is a great glory to live a robust life, then fall and become part of the soil to grow more sustenance for more animals, insects, birds and plants. That is a marvelous circle.

I understand faith can be a comfort, but I would rather have faith in our stories told while we live, than the tale told about after we die. There is too much pain to make me feel any omniscient wonder is in charge, and there to welcome us all into some splendor. Not when we walk obliviously past reminders there is too much work to be done here on Earth. 


The people closest to me who have died, live enshrined in my heart.

To me, they are indwelling perched somewhere in the neighborhood of the aorta. That sounds extremely silly, but still, stripped of that comfort, how else might I make sense of loss?

When I was a young cynical teen, it was quite common to declare “Religion is a crutch.” I never felt the need to be cool and nihilistic though. I could see that hard as life was, a crutch could be useful.

I was more agnostic than atheist. That continues to this day and any observance of my Roman Catholic religion lies in the distant past.

So, now I am more inclined to consider the laws of physics when I look for the comfort of an afterlife.

Nothing is created or destroyed. Not matter, not energy. Therefore, the sweet loving kindness of my mother must persist in this universe or another, my father’s questing curiosity, the searching of my brothers for wholeness through art and music.

I am sure I can feel it in my heart and in the beauty of the night sky.

That is my crutch.

Next week’s question: Did something make you really angry this week, and what made that happen? If not, why not?

Posted by MMJ

  1. My partner and I stumbled over here from a different page and thought I may as well check things out.

    I like what I see so i am just following you.
    Look forward to checking out your web page yet


Leave a reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *