You are alone, in the blackest of spaces. It is scary. You are scared. Somehow you know you’re dead, but you never imagined what death would feel like. You’ve always witnessed people die, but you’ve never really questioned what it means to die. And now you’re dead, and you know there’s no going back.
They say you see a light and a tunnel when dying, but they lied.
What you see is darkness, the blackest of darknesses. Dark abyss. Dark void. You are wallowing in darkness, and you’re asking questions like, “Am I dead? What is this?” but there’s no one to reply you. You smell darkness, you breathe darkness.
You’ve likely attended a funeral, you might have even seen a corpse or two, neatly dressed or not. But that’s a perspective the living have on the dead. The dead lay in their coffins, peaceful, and still. They seem to have no worries, but they have plenty fears. They are in darkness. There is no light, there is no tunnel.
You see the darkness, you move in it, and it is eternal. It is absolutely different from the world you once knew. It is different from trees and blue skies and people and oceans. In fact, this new dark world makes sure you never connect with your colourful world in any way. You are dead.
You feel the disconnect. If you were still in your human body, it would feel like your brain is exploding in your head. You feel every bit of the pain, of the disbelief, of the shock.
Imagine being butchered, your body sliced repeatedly, and every tiny part of flesh is still alive, conscious and bleeding!
Imagine your head cut off, and your eyes are still blinking and your mouth is still voicing, but you have no body, and your neck is drooling blood. But your severed head is conscious on the ground, and your body is walking without a head.
That’s how death feels like. It is the most horrible of existences.
Once you’ve experienced death, life itself would feel like a curse.
Once you’ve experienced death, life would feel like a dream. Like a very fake dream, the most deceitful of all dreams.
Once you’ve experienced death, you would never be the same again.
Once you’ve experienced death, you would begin to doubt the very fabric of reality. You will begin to see the traces of eternal deceit in everything; in the skies, in the oceans, in the air, in the earth, even people would look fake to you, everything.
I died, and family cried. I was no ghost, I didn’t lurk about in the house watching people that couldn’t watch me back. Of course, the movies lied. How can we know about death when we’ve not experienced it? They prayed for my soul, they offered masses, they cried at the sacred statues, they did everything to reassure themselves that I rested in peace.
When you lose someone close to you, you cry. Let me tell you why you cry. You don’t cry because you miss the person, you cry because you are scared. You cry because you know death is coming for you. You cry people you know you cannot escape it. This existence is like a maximum security prison; you have been dealt the death sentence, and you know there’s no escaping it. You are either going to be hanged, or you are going to seat in the electric chair. Either way, you are going to die, and this realisation makes you scared. That’s truly why you cry.
Imagine you’re on a long queue on a ship, and everyone’s hands and legs are chained, heavily. The chained person closest to the captain is carried and thrown into the ocean. This person, he/she, is heavily chained and can’t swim, they struggle and struggle in the mighty ocean as they drown. You know it would be your turn, you pee on yourself, you shit on yourself, but it will be your turn, and they will throw you into the ocean as well. You are sickly scared, but you still don’t believe, you’d never believe until your leg touches the ridgy ocean surface, and then you believe.
Do you know you are going to die? Do you? Think about it, think about your death. You are so used to life that death is the last thing that crosses your mind any day. And that is why when it comes we are surprised at its evil intent.
During my funeral, the pallbearers carried my casket. They don’t believe, they only perceive. I lay inside, and if I could see myself, I’d think I were sleeping, peacefully. But that would be a lie, because life is only the beginning of many horrors to come. They don’t believe they are going to die. How can they when they still live? They don’t even know why they’re crying! Mum throws herself to the ground, “Why should a child die before his parents?” she yells. Sympathisers are trying to console her, but she vehemently wails and wails. I was taken from mum, from her love, and she is experiencing this horror. It is deeply painful. Life is horrible.
They put me inside the ground, but I’m not conscious of this. I am dead. My body serves as realistic art to them. For them to see and react to. Some say, “God forbid bad thing,” others say, “Could he really be gone?” You see, they still doubt. They are trying to understand that I’d never be coming back. Once you’re dead, you gone, forever. Even my brothers and sisters ask in their minds, “What if it was me?” and they wince at the thought, they can’t imagine what it would be like to be dead like their brother, “Why him? Am I special?” And if I could answer I’d say, “No dear, you’re not special, shit happens and people die, people die randomly.” My younger sister dreamt about me, she told mum that she saw me in full white, that I gave her a message. It is a lie, those are things our disbelieving brains fabricate to make us feel normal again. Our brains possess the capability to infinitely lie to us. Anything to make the bitter pill less horrible to swallow.
I am dead, and you are going to die.