No signs of the Maker. There’s no crash of cymbals as I make my entrance. No Muses or orchestrated choir and strings to announce my presence. There’s no sign of religion.
No sensations of sound or smell. No feelings of remorse, loss, happiness or fear. There’s just me inside this random nothingness. There’s no color, nor light, nor darkness. I feel my own presence but unsure if it exists. I am here, but not. This is not Heaven, Hell or any Purgatory. This is an afterlife and I cannot remember how I arrived.
There are no monster baddies such as vampires, werewolves and certainly not any zombies. So the zombie apocalypse theory is now out the window. There was no shining light to float up to, nor any pain. No hospital that I can remember. No one telling me that I would be alright. There’s none of this which makes me wonder what truly happened and where I am.
Without any signs of burning suns smashing the earth, zombies eating my flesh or a calendar running out of time, there’s a sense of knowledge that shows common sense shining through. The information gained prior to this place really has no meaning other than ruling it out of not existing.
Coma? Possibly. Death? Likely. Pre-birth? Unsure. There aren’t any pearly gates that suggest any of those things are possible. I’m not in any sticky wet womb of feeding tubes and blood vessels that detail how I’m born. I feel no uncomfortable hospital bed that could be a casket. Confusion isn’t even setting in as the deciphering of my whereabouts is floating through my mind. Quite honestly, I cannot tell whether I’m sitting, standing, or lying down. There is only that sense of being, a soul with no form like that of a smoke cloud. I cannot prove this theory either for there is no vision other than my thoughts.
No gruesome gore that shows an ugly demise, no white robe and halo that proves me an angel. None of this exists. No other being around, at least not communicative, to provide answers. No other person, rodent, or insect to give me a clue of what or where I might be. I try to call out, but again the sound only rings through my thoughts. Telepathy maybe? The ancient ones spoke only through telepathic surges learned by the aliens. Now I’m sounding absurd.
This euphoric state of mind, the sense of weightlessness, the inability to hear or make sound forces me to use the one sense I know I have: remembering.
I can hear the piercing thoughts in my head that wonder what is happening. I push forward trying to remember, but forcing memories to happen causes a flood of voices and randomness to occur inside my brain. I do my best to break through the flood and begin to make out silhouettes of my surroundings. Everything is cloudy and distorted, but I push forward, straining the thought to focus.
Finally, I’m sitting down ready to have lunch. This is not your typical deli, I get the sense that tuna on rye will not be on the menu. There are many people around sitting, talking, and eating lunch but I cannot make out their faces. They are all just a blur and the only focused items in my view are the table in front of me and the wrought iron gate that I sit next to. Nothing physical about this place is familiar but the sense of being there is all too habitual. Difficult to explain, but the forced thought of déjà vu pouncing its way through my thoughts is all too recognizable. I do remember having such sensations of being somewhere before I actually arrived quite often. This I remember.
However, the place I am in now does not bring on a déjà vu or any type of sensation. It must not be focused on now. Back to the bistro table.
Again, no tuna on rye, there is only a cheese melt on the menu, a fancy term for grilled cheese. It is made with three cheeses and served with a small cup of tomato soup. I order, yet there is no waiter. There is the disappearance of my menu and then my food arrives piping hot. Suddenly, I am cold. A shudder comes across me as I realize I’m wearing a light jacket. This could indicate the climate of my whereabouts. The steam from my soup is visible. Yet another clue that my location could be very cold and yet I am only wearing a light jacket outside. Clues to take in audibly for there are no limbs to write them down. For that matter, I wonder if I even have flesh at this point. For if I have no flesh there will be no fiery pits. And no fiery pits means no steamed heat and heated passionate deadly sins. It also means not having the rolling hills and green pastures to run through long crops of grain passing by the tree of life.
Foretold through memories I remember what dangers I was warned of if lived by ways of sinning. That by living a fruitful life with an open mind to love all people would bring me to a place of peaceful tranquility. I wonder if these are all lies. All of them. Fictitious tales told by parents and worshippers to have codes to live by, putting the Bible as stone tablets carved with lightning bolts. Yes, a life lived by stone.
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