Gravitation

Probably the only thing I think about these days whenever I stop living life or find myself in lonely contemplation is death. The notion of the end of life nags at me and sends me into a fit of terror whenever I close my eyes, lose all sense of the gravity of reality and allow myself to wander the abyss.

I fear not the dying, surprisingly. I fear what comes after. What happens when the breath of life is taken from you and you are removed from this world? Does god really exist up there waiting for all of us in heaven, or do we remain in limbo for all eternity? It's not all the questions and endless possibilities either. There is only one possibility that I fear.

I fear the removal of my sub-conscious.

The body is but an apparatus with which We wander and survive in this realm that we call reality. The sub-conscious is where everything ultimately happens, Planning what to say and do, considering solutions to problems, thinking about the past and contemplating the future; it all takes place in the backstage that is our mind. Life's just one real big play after all. It's what really forms our personalities, drone or rogue, we are who we are because of how we think and react. This sub-conscious (which is a really long word, I will label simply as a soul for simpler
analogy) is somewhere we can take refuge in, and no matter how bad the world outside seems we are all really safe in the confines of our own mind. In this respect, our bodies seem separate, like puppets that we control.

but when the puppet is finally destroyed, ruined or withered from age, what happens to the mind? Where does it go? Does it die with the puppet? Simply put, what happens to the backstage crew?

It's this question that sends me waking up in terror and mumbling prayers; I actually try to envision what it's like to, to not exist. I can imagine everything growing darker, all of the five senses are removed from me. There can be no thought without a subconscious, so I think nothing. And as I gradually form my imagined perception of inexistence... I get scared.

The prayers help. They are a reassurance that god is waiting up there to collect my soul should I want him to take me. But it's all I have. There is no guidance, there is no understanding of what lies beyond; it's not like some guy will rise from the dead and tell em what it's like being what he is.

But maybe it's because the dead's sub-conscious no longer exists that no one ever comes back.