There’s a poem I haven’t yet made In it, I hope to convey how we are just a shade In the vast Light of eternity…
And how nothing seems all to man It’s annoying though, I’m not sure I ever will, or even can
What’s hard is that I don’t know how to get around the cliché. How to describe it - that we think about it as if it’s just a game…
Think about it, when you think of death with no after You think about it from a viewpoint, A deceiving different version of another hereafter
Perhaps instead, consider not the death of your body But the death of consciousness, the death of memory, of any trace of your story
Think of another’s consciousness, transfer yourself into that one, Then lose your current mind from current perspective and clean away what it came from. Inhabit that soul, perhaps ancient and bold perhaps a tree, and really inhabit its memory.
No. I’m not sure that works.
Okay, think from our Father’s perspective Imagine there never is and never was Just Him and the Trinity, no you, no us…
Do you see how the viewpoint stays no matter the game? Let me try something else, again, another new frame
Pause. Look up. Take it in. The air. The reality. The imagination. Your senses. The galaxies beyond.
Then imagine it gone.
Perhaps in that moment, you may have seen what it would be like to not live on…
But again, break this abstract Absorb the present. Fill your lungs with air, Life is not just some stair. Dancing up the beams, Whilst others scramble on But if you fall off no worries, You are back to where you belong?
Okay, yet another. Let’s try once more:
Senses without thought.
Just your body, rotting in the ground A life of pain, an eternity without sound. Without mind or logic, just a soul in the earth Unnoticed, without form or life, only eternal hunger and eternal thirst Thirst for what is, as it is what is not Only decay, only slow disappearance Never real, yet formless desire and unnatural wants… fire in essence Not is, not was, not will be Just burning, subdued and hurting.
Then, eventually: gone. No peace. No sweet dreams of a land never seen. No painless whisper of a perspective hither Just pain-filled death, without goodness or substance, Life or gain, treasure or fame…
Please realise what kind of existence, what shade of life in nothingness remains When you choose not-God.
It’s not a game. And I’m not here to disdain. But I earnestly plead, for you to consider These thoughts… Left on a page.