afterlife

People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the though of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believe in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.

When I came out into the outside room again, I saw her shoe still lying there, where it had come off in the course of our brief wrestle. It looked so pathetic there by itself without an owner, it looked so lonely, it looked so empty. Something made me pick it up arid take it in to her. Like when someone's going away, you help them on with their coat, or their jackboots, or whatever it is they need for going away.I didn't try to put it back on her, I just set it down there beside her close at hand. You're going to need this, I said to her in my mind. You're starting on a long walk. You're going to keep walking from now on, looking for your home.I stopped and wondered for a minute if that was what happened to all of us when we crossed over. Just keep walking, keep on walking, with no ahead and no in-back-of; tramps, vagrants in eternity. With our last hope and horizon - death - already taken away.In the Middle Ages they had lurid colors, a bright red hell, an azure heaven shot with gold stars. They knew where they were, at least. They could tell the difference. We, in the Twentieth, we just have the long walk, the long walk through the wispy backward-stringing mists of eternity, from nowhere to nowhere, never getting there, until you're so tired you almost wish you were alive again. ("Life Is Weird Sometimes" - first chapter of unpublished novel THE LOSER)

No quality imparts apparent strength to its possessors more effectively than faith. From hospital beds to battlefields, it is the iron that strengthens a man to confront his destiny.

This I can declare: things that are in heaven are more real than things that are in the world.

Cynicism is extremely contagious, and the most pious among us cannot long endure its potency. The gullible should be on their guard, however, since this endearing quality frequently masquerades as wit.

His Nana's prayers were moving toward his mother like little butterflies of thoughts wrapped in the most beautiful colors. Each prayer looked like a mini-rainbow.

SOON, he replied, which makes better sense under the rules of that country than ours. VERY SOON! he added, clasping my hands; then, unable to keep from laughing, he pushed off from the rock like a boy going for the first cold swim of spring; and the current got him. The stream was singing aloud, and I heard him singing with it until he dropped away over the edge.

When she awakes, she knows where she is. This place, this ancient place sears one__ soul with recognition. 'Heaven' seems an inadequate word for it, but that is what it is known as.

And in front of it all are the pearly gates: the proverbial entrance to Heaven that she, in earthly life, thought might not exist. But they are real, not myth or fantasy.As she passes through them, several people greet her. In foreign tongues even, but she understands. Language no longer matter. There are no barriers between herself and others, just love.The gorgeous views seem to go on forever. Ornate structures, mansions, banquet halls, and natural beauty, orchards, gardens. People congregate around huge marble fountains. In the distance are snow-capped mountains of the purist white. She can hear the sounds of rushing rivers and the surf of the ocean at once.Everyone around her is happy, loving, thankful. A choir sings songs of joy and peace while others play musical instruments of every kind in perfect harmony. Children laugh and play in the streets as well as in the clouds above her head.

Suddenly, he felt a tremendous stirring of hope inside his heart; it filled his whole body with its warmth. I may not be that much of a broken man, he thought to himself.

Heaven is inside us,' Ida uttered in a rather loud whisper.

Be prepared for a bit of a stinker! My little lambs always start bleating when told they're not going to Heaven.

Heaven is spectacular, some would say paradise. A magnificent city surrounded by walls of gold and rainbow paths all dazzling in Gods light. There is no fear in Heaven, nor is there pain, and most really have found serenity there

If there is but one pearl of wisdom I have to impart to you, after all my observations here thus far, it is do not take yourself too seriously. Because when you get here, you might just find that you are not exactly who or what you thought you were.

Today the journey is ended,I have worked out the mandates of fate;Naked, alone, undefended,I knock at the Uttermost Gate.Behind is life and its longing,Its trial, its trouble, its sorrow;Beyond is the Infinite MorningOf a day without a tomorrow.Go back to dust and decay,Body, grown weary and old;You are worthless to me from today__o longer my soul can you hold.I lay you down gladly foreverFor a life that is better than this;I go where partings ne'er severYou into oblivion's abyss.Lo, the gate swings wide at my knocking,Across endless reaches I seeLost friends with laughter come flockingTo give a glad welcome to me.Farewell, the maze has been threaded,This is the ending of strife;Say not that death should be dreaded_'Tis but the beginning of life.

Life is not the end, and death is just the beginning...

I don't like Paradise,As they probably don't have obsessions there.

I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert an afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking.The world is so exquisite with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there's little good evidence. Far better it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.