knows what happens after death. We know what happens to the body, but hardly anything about what happens to the person. We've plenitude of propositions about it, however, numerous in religious textbooks as well. There's nothing “ right ” or “ wrong ” about any of them. They're propositions, after all, or at least ideas that can not be objectively vindicated. Whichever proposition stylish matches our belief, faith or stopgap becomes a kind of verity to us.
One day we ’ll know for sure what happens after death, but to know it we've to die first. We can not unfortunately partake our knowledge with those who are still living. What exactly happens after death will ever remain a riddle.
People who are curious about what happens after death are in no hurry to die in order to get that knowledge. They want to know the verity without having to die as a precondition. That isn't going to be. Ever.
Anyway, what this means is that now, when we're still living, we've the freedom to hope, to presume, to imagine, to dream about what might be after death. Then's one stopgap, a enterprise for sure, a kind of wild imagination or, what some may indeed say, a weird dream.
It was bound to be one day. Eventually it does. I die.
I find myself outside a giant door. I had noway seen a door so large and so imposing and yet it has a kind of wimpiness to it. The door is closed. I've no idea what this place is. It does n’t indeed feel like a place. There’s no bone
around. All that I see is this big unrestricted door in front of me.
Is this the door that separates me from what has been described similarly as the Kingdom of God, the Paradise, Vaikuntha, Kailasa, Brahmaloka, or as deliverance, moksha, nirvana? maybe it is. Or perhaps not. I've no idea how I got then and what I ’m supposed to do now.
But commodity must be done. I ca n’t just stand then doing nothing. So I do what people have always done when they find a unrestricted door. Knock, knock.
Suddenly I hear a voice. No idea whose voice it's or where it's coming from.
I can slightly hear myself say a scrupling “ Me. ”
I artificially blurt out my name.
easily, it does n’t work. I realize that my name means nothing then. I need to introduce myself else. I describe where I lived on the earth and what I did there.
That’s not intriguing and it does n’t matter now anyway.
I try relating myself by my age. When that does n’t help, I try other effects. I advertise, one after another, my gender, color, race, class, my artistic roots and my religious leanings.
All of those effects made sense when you were living as a mortal being. That’s ended. Who are you now, at this moment?
I'm thwarted. What am I going to say? I ’ve run out of ideas. I've no words now to describe myself because all of my defining traits have been dismissed. I gawk vacantly into dead.
Look, if you do n’t know who you are, the door wo n’t open. perhaps this isn't the right time for you. Not to worry, you can go back and suppose some further. You need further time
When I hear this, I'm alarmed. It would be a catastrophe to go back to my repetitious, monotonous, meaningless actuality of imagining myself to be someone while really being no bone
. But that's exactly what may be soon enough, for I begin to feel a kind of backward pull, a force that's stinking me back to where I came from. I repel but the pull is too strong. I repel with all my muscle.
I'm apprehensive that my thinking is muddled, but one thing I know for sure, I do n’t want to go back. Not now, not ever. I maintain with intentness, “ Please, please, please give me a little further time. ”
Well, also, accelerate up. There are others staying their turn
Oddly, time seems precious indeed though I've no idea what time of the day or night it is. I realize it’s either now or not for a long, long time, which feels like noway . What if I'm not suitable to come to this place( is this a place?) again?
I dive deep within myself without knowing exactly what I'm looking for. Does anything remain after the exposure of my age, gender, color, race, class, artistic levees, religious beliefs, my chops and bents and interests, my family and musketeers? Who am I without reference to any of those effects?
As I consider over this with lesser urgency than ever, commodity clicks. There's a flicker of light deep within me. It's an aha moment. I stumble upon the one thing that identifies me impeccably — my actuality. Indeed though nearly everything was stripped down from me when my body and mind — indeed my world faded, I continue to live. I live!
The light within becomes steadier and brighter now. The fog is fading. I've begun to see effects easily. Besides my actuality, I discover commodity further — my mindfulness. I couldn't have known that I live unless I was apprehensive of my actuality. I'm apprehensive!
With actuality and mindfulness as labels of my identity, I'm startled to find how did I miss commodity that was so egregious? — that I'm horizonless! I can hardly contain my joy at the discovery that nothing binds me. Nothing limits me presently. There are no boundaries to my actuality and mindfulness. I'm far and wide because there's nowhere to go. I'm everyone because no bone
exists piecemeal from me.
A sound that isn't a sound begins to resonate
सत्यं ज्ञानं अनन्तं ब्रह्म ।
satyaṁ jñānaṁ anantaṁ brahma.
“ Brahman is actuality, mindfulness and perpetuity ”( Taittirīya Upaniṣad,2.1.3).
The riddle door that blocked my path when I set up myself then has miraculously dissolved. But it does n’t surprise me, because I'm no longerI.
There's no “ door, ” there's no “ me, ” there's no “ then, ” there's no “ there. ” Nothing is everything. No bone
Actuality. mindfulness. perpetuity.