The Great Perhaps

Rabelais was onto something, and we all get to find out what.

Sunset, Naples Beach: Photo Anne Egros

My mentor, Michael Singer, recently described death as a ‘once in a lifetime experience.’ He went on to say that we need not fear death. It would be like fearing the sun might rise in the east. Or that water may be wet.

Additionally — and what should come as great comfort for anyone alive, therefore destined to be dead — in contemplation of our own demise we have two choices: We’ll either know what’s behind human history’s most mysterious curtain; or we won’t. Those are the options. Full stop. It seems to me that our ‘once in a lifetime experience’ may be the most exciting and alluring adventure we ever undertake.

During a recent meditation period I pondered the two options, finding both entirely reasonable, neither particularly fearsome. At age 76+ this mental exercise takes on a bit of urgency, and a lot of relevance. Here’s what I conclude, for now: If I’m still ‘sentient’ after my final curtain drops I’ll come to know that I’m here, and I’ll be aware that I’m here. If I’m not available when the curtain rings down, hopefully accompanied by warm applause…I’ll not be aware of that eventuality. No one wakes up and says “Crap, I’m no longer here!”

In the photo above I cite the French writer/philosopher François Rabelais and his pithy dying phrase: “I go to seek the great perhaps.” I wonder what I may have missed in the classics? I’ve read a number of literary works without realizing that some of them refer to death and the hoped-for afterlife. For example:

• Alice in Wonderland: Lewis Carroll’s fanciful tale of a girl named Alice who tumbles down a rabbit hole. Carroll’s adventure can be seen as a story with reference to the afterlife. The rabbit hole is awaiting all of us, and reading Carroll’s book, supposedly written for children, explores that topic.

• The Chronicles of Narnia: Another English author named Lewis, C.S. Lewis crafted a similar tale, with children stepping through a cabinet (a coffin?) to enter a fanciful world called Narnia. Soon after their entry to Narnia, Ann, Martin, Rose, and Peter meet Aslan the lion, an alleged avatar of Jesus Christ, and set out on one grand adventure after another.

• Moby Dick: Melville’s magnum opus has similarities with both Lewis’ novels insofar as characters embark on an epic adventure into a vast unknown, symbolic of death’s immense, all engulfing ocean. The difference in Melville’s novel is that one character, Ishmael, avoids the fate of his Pequod (coffin?) shipmates. As he says, “I alone survived to tell the tale.” And what a tale, with a myriad of references to the afterlife: Queequeg’s tattoos and indigenous spirit religion, Starbuck’s mental anguish over Ahab’s purpose in his life and looming death, the white whale itself, as stark a symbol of mankind’s pursuit to conquer inevitable demise as any in literature. Oh, and Queequeg even built a coffin, then didn’t need it. That same coffin is what Ishmael clings to until the Rachel comes by and rescues him. Symbolic of man’s needless obsession with death? You decide.

My conviction that an afterlife is wishful thinking, an illusion propagated by people wishing to hold my attention and influence me in some way, that conviction has faded. I’m not yet wholly on board with a pending ‘life’ after this one, but I have no argument against it either.

For one thing, if we’re energy — and I believe we are energy — and if energy cannot be created or destroyed, then following my last breath where does my energy go? Here’s my theory:

As we age we’re subjected to an unavoidable process of disintegration. That is, my slow but certain Dis-Integration from my body, the thing I’ve labeled ‘This’, is inexorable, universal, and in my case arriving relatively soon. As we age, ‘This’ begins to deteriorate, needing more maintenance and upkeep day by day. In order to keep functioning, ‘This’ requires spare parts, in my case a heart stent, hearing aids, new glasses every year, looming cataract surgery, and various prescription and OTC oddments. ‘This’ demands a lot of resources, time, funding, and yes, energy.

The good news is, with a bit of alteration in my perspective, the deterioration of ‘This’ is good news. ‘This’ can be considered an obstacle to what could be a carefree, trouble free, easy and exciting new existence. I’ve read a lot of so-called Near Death Experiences, NDEs, in the recent past. Those NDEs have much in common: They describe (often) surgery patients rising to ceiling level, watching themselves below, observing things done to their bodies, and finally, sensing it’s not their time and returning to those bodies. Here’s the interesting part. Not one of those NDE individuals wished to come back! Every NDE I’ve studied cited disappointment at resuming their place in their own body.

Good news? I believe so, and I take it that way. I have no illusions that an afterlife is simple reality. I do have issues with the concept of reincarnation. (The sheer numbers don’t add up). But the energy example gives me a lot to consider. In any case, when I ‘go to seek the great perhaps,’ I’ll be prepared with a lot better questions. ‘Perhaps’ I’ll sit down with Monsieur Rabelais and chat him up.