afterlife Death and Dying dying feelings God guitars music Religion


How much time do I have left? If I could schedule the year, month, day, and time of my death what would it look like?

Thursday, January 27, 2045

My alarm goes off at 6:00 am and I reluctantly reach over and tap the alarm off button on my iPhone 21 Pro Max. It’s a cold wintry morning in south central Kentucky (I should’ve chosen a state further south, but I’ve said that about a thousand times) but it’ll be warm in the shower.

As I dry off I take stock of my nakedness one last time. I’ve chosen to leave this world wearing exactly what I had on when I first entered it. Before “Your Time to Die” came along there was no such thing as scheduling your own demise. Choosing what I’m not wearing was an easy decision.

It’s 8 o’clock and the smell of bacon frying makes me wonder if I’ll ever have breakfast again. There’s a lot of those kinds of wonderings in my head as I break three eggs into the skillet of bacon grease. Those breakfast cooking sounds; will I hear such sounds as that again after 8:00 pm this evening?

There’s only one way to know, I can’t ask anyone, Google still can’t tell us, and God seems to be silent on the matter, at least for now. I’ve been told you must have faith and believe that there is an afterlife. If there is such a thing, I’d like to think that bacon and eggs will be there too.

It’s noon and I relax with an old guitar, it’s the only thing I’m taking with me. If things are like what my Mother read in her Bible we’ll be transformed somehow. Does that mean we won’t have physical bodies? How am I supposed to play my guitar?

It’s 2:00 pm and I send out “Last Calls” on my old but reliable iMac. Those that gather are but a few, it’s not a festive event, but I’d like to think it is in an odd sort of way. I wonder if I’ll know what they’re thinking as I’m falling.

I’m enjoying my final glass of bourbon barrell moonshine and the pipe is empty. Although it’s a chilly 22 degrees outside, my insides are warmed just enough as I prepare myself for my final flight. I’ve stopped wondering. It’s time.

I’m being flown to a height of 1500 feet. Lying naked, ready for whatever awaits me. I’m slowly manuevered into position. At precisely 8:00 pm I’m asleep.

What happened after that I do not know.

afterlife Death Death and Dying dying heaven hell

My 65th Summer

As another year fades into history I wonder how much longer I’ll be around to witness the passing of time. When I think about the end of my life here and what takes place afterwards a BIG question mark pops into my head. And I know, and you do too, that there is only one way to know what happens after we’re gone.

I don’t dwell on the unknown but with each passing year I ponder a little longer on what happens next. If it’s to be believed from what I heard growing up, and if you’ve “been a good boy/girl” all your life, you’ll spend eternity in a place called Heaven where love rules and there is no hatred, meanness, or other “bad” things. If, on the other hand, you’ve “been a bad boy/girl” all your life you spend eternity suffering in a burning fire pit. What if you never heard either of those two options when you were growing up? What happens then?

If you’re in the “good boy/girl” group when you die and you find yourself in Heaven, what goes on there? I can think of lots of good things we do here in this life that I’d like to be able to do in Heaven if that’s where I end up. Are there guitars there? Digital cameras? Computers? Is there sex in Heaven? Or are we somehow transposed and transformed into some other type of being that knows and feels nothing of the life lived before?

I sure hope that I haven’t been so bad in this life as to spend the next one in a burning fire pit! I remember hearing a Pentecostal preacher proclaiming in a sermon that “unless you know Jesus as your personal savior, you will die and burn in a firery pit in Hell.” Hearing this as a little kid really did a number on my head! I know I haven’t been a “good boy” all my life. But I haven’t been all that bad either!

If all the above sounds like existentialism then I guess I might be an existentialist. Because the closer I move toward the end of my existence, the more I wonder if that existence has had any meaning, purpose, or value to anyone but me. Especially in a world that seems to be unravelling more and more with each passing year.