What Comes Next

Since having a child, I have become more much aware of mortality. I don't believe in heaven or hell, reincarnation, or a soul, so for me when death comes it will be the end. A large part of me believes that the idea of an afterlife comes from our intense fear of death and dying. Death is so far out of our range of experience, so completely unknown, and since we can not rationalize it, we create stories to comfort ourselves. This is normal. Children will do this. They will create fantasies to address those things that they do not understand, or are frightened by.

Thinking about dying makes me cry, but I don't know why. I can't align the emotion with fear, or regret, or even sorrow. But I have to confront it now, because of my child. I must address what should be done with her if I die, or my husband dies, or we both die, before she is old enough to fend for herself. I must detail what I want to happen to my belongings, my dog. Oh, I could just avoid the issue entirely, and let the state or surviving family members do as they see fit, but it's not in my nature to do something like that.

Perhaps that is what is so upsetting about my own mortality. It is the absolute, unconditional, loss of control. I can not have a say, or even the illusion of one, into what happens next, once I am dead. I don't like that very much. Even during labor, when you are consumed by this physical act which overrides everything else, the moment I found the rhythm of the contractions, I was preparing for them, adjusting and taking action to affect them. When the pushing phase started, I very quickly tried to tell my body when to push (which became very problematic towards the end, since I got the distinct impression I was getting in my own way: push but don't push!). I need to meditate on this, on letting go of the need for control. Perhaps then I can approach the end of my life with less apprehension, and more calm.

Someone (much smarter than me) pointed out that we are not afraid of the time before we were born. Why should we be afraid of the time after we die?

It Doesn't Make Sense

Logic, or rather the apparent lack thereof, can present a real problem when people discuss about their decisions in life. How could a person who seems to have everything to live for commit suicide? Or why would a person be willing to take risks in one area of life but not in another? You could call these people idiots or fools, ignorant or uniformed, selfish or hypocritical, but it is doubtful that is true. Especially when you consider that everyone lives with or by logically inconsistent behavior, at least part of the time.

I think it is a fundamental aspect of being human. Because we constantly alter our reality to suit ourselves, never leaving well enough alone, we are constantly testing, revising, or revisiting the decision making process. One risk in isolation may be acceptable, but the cummulative risks of another set of actions may be unacceptable. I know people who watch what they eat for health reasons but drink caffeine by the gallon. This to me is logically inconsistent, to them caffeine doesn't count. Personal preference trumps logic. It's what makes this place so fun, and so irritating to live in.

In the beginning

I believe that nothing is more frightening than the blank page. You can put any line, any word, any color down. Whatever that first mark is sets the tone for whatever will follow. You can erase it, color over it, tear it up and start anew, but it is too late. You can never go back to the beginning and start fresh.

This is the nature of life. We convince ourselves that life is full of the potential of new beginnings, but that's not really possible. Everything we do is affected by what we did before.

We can only strive to be clear in the actions we make moving forward.