—–It started out as a taunt, and I just kind of got nudged into another perspective, and I started saying to people: “questions not asked in this life don’t get answered in another, you know.”
—–It seemed appropriate to announce to people, as a vast, challenging proposition. You just don’t get to find out the truth, because you were born. I am always trying to get a view from heaven. I mean if and when it turns out someone is right, say about the nature of reality, the fossils and flowers, the springs, so to speak–are they going to hold it over your head, and gloat? On the contrary, if it were me, I think I‘d resent others just getting this superior knowledge, like wholesale–when they never even searched, and they didn’t do a single thing, in life to earn it. It would be just unfair, I hear myself complaining, that the same prize of an explanation is handed out, like to everyone, when some of us were toiling as in a mystery, and others just went sunbathing. Well! These are lowly human emotions!
—–Maybe I will be big about it, or won’t really care. Maybe I won’t have time.
—–“Questions not asked in this life don’t get answered in some other life, you know”, I said to the guy sitting next to me at Montys Krown. He looked at me quite sympathetically. “No, I mean it,” I said, “you can’t just be a god-forsaken hedonist your whole life.”
—–“What’s that?” he asked, of course. I launched this subject, as I said, like a taunt, and it was an expression of my own indolence, I was in a fog– after listening to this folk rock band. Their smooth sailing lyrics were couched in insipid paradox, their metaphors were cheap wine, and the band members so laid back, I thought they might, they should, slow down to a floor display. They were proposing life and death questions, like for amusement! So I framed it this way: they have their day jobs, and you don’t earn answers to questions you never seriously work to get answers for, like in some other life, like a prize for a contest you never entered. Nice guys, but I was disgusted.
—–I went into the other room, where they serve the drinks. And onward with this theme now in thoughts, to get real results. Life is a minefield of mysteries, questions trip up answers that are further questions, it’s so much fun–but if you never got into the swing of it, and you aren’t full sail into the mystery, then you can’t earn, I mean you can’t qualify, you aren’t in any way prepared for a fully cognizant type afterlife. That is what I think.
—–If it got to that. God, now this makes me tired, just thinking of how much application it has. Because it erases all those suffocating universes that elite minds have been preparing, like in a dish, or in a primer, a set of understandings. How close have they ever pegged the real universe, these . . . dabblers? I mean the one that contains both this sordid world and the beatific one after this one, where we have earned our stripes, survived death, and are newly flourishing . . . leave it at that.
—–The comical problem is there is no general population to inhabit this finely imagined general universe, because all the people who never thought about such things at all, are not even there. They were blipped out, when you forget to include such things as most people really care about. It is too exclusive, this college campus or country club of an afterlife. Ha! What a sort of big mistake is this, to make truth contingent on relative sophistries, and pretended excellences of mind?
—–No one can get an answer to a question they never asked. That is where I started. What they do get, though, more mundanely, and perhaps threateningly, is an answer exactly to the degree they did brush up against a question. You see a glass darkly? That is what you get, a dark glass. Take this tack. Yes, say people do get answers to the questions they managed to ask, and then, if there is another existence for them, have to live with them. Sounds like a hell of insufficiency, and simpering! Maybe I shouldn’t be so scornful. Once again, pity is the only recourse, when dealing with humanity in general. “Humanity in general” though is not what anyone has to deal with. It’s dealing with specific people that is problematic; and there, I rear up to say, one has not just the right, but the responsibility, to throttle any obvious ingrate.
—–Hey! You could say that since this life is mystery, what follows this life is liable to be the slam dunk total answer to that mystery. The very one central core question, however you clumsily put it. I mean that will be the leading feature. Answers! It will be a holiday, a grand reversal. I am sure you can follow this! I’ll say that to the degree a person squarely faced the mystery here, they live in its explication there. Pillar to post. (Metaphors invited.) This is what it must mean when one says that people who have died, have got their reward. They found out what it was all about, as if a nice big revelation was what awaited them, as a prize for death, and now they know what life was really for, and why they did sit on the beach, watching the sailboats. (Short stories welcome.)
—–But, I kept asking the kicker– did that laggard person even ever frame one general inquiry, and ask about this broadscale everything that your favorite authors, and your corny folk singers, keep hinting at? Hell, your authors only make hints! Their language is half-rotten; their cadences deadly and a death knell in fact. I say, do people really merit salvation at all? Or suddenly become in need of it, just because they are besieged by doubts, and flail about in pain. . . oh, stop! I mean, I am sorry but, folks, why supply people with answers, who never asked for them?
—–This is harsh. Okay, I have another idea. How about flimsy answers to their own passing concerns; answers to the questions on their own level, within their own arena. Patches on a sleeve. That would be to their liking, they could smoothly adjust and would hardly notice, if, for instance, they were dead. People get to go to a phoney heaven made of their own expectations, which were based largely on worldly frustrations, with now and then a flicker of wonderment. Ha! This is the way they treated life, as if it wasn’t a miracle, but a sort of field of limited emotional opportunity. Just ask someone and they will tell you, this life is poorly suited to them–in particular. A different time in history, maybe, a few breaks the other way, maybe, but the way it goes, no. Getting through, and getting some laughs. Inwardly, they deserve better. This is harsh again, but I have a scheme in which they aren’t going to get better, they are going to get exactly the answers to the small questions they did ask. For I say, the stakes remain ultimate. Trapped in existence, if you try to wriggle out, you make your own straitjacket.
—– There is no other place for any of us, that we can successfully imagine or construct by science or art. It isn’t as if in the next life one finds out which theory of how the universe was made is correct, or whether evolution isn’t just a theory but actually the way nature operates. Somehow this all seems quite childish. It seems like school, when we are all out of school. What is the actual history of the solar system? At the end of alternatives, what seems most correct to say is that there is no history to the solar system at all, by any reckoning except . . . what is established in thought–which is structured retrospectively. Truth rolls out in a revelation, always backwards goes the insight. What does one get for the attention they deeply gave to life, for the continual investment, or unwavering faith. It should be the difference in a person’s earnestness in regards to possible truth, regardless of their capacity by another’s standards. It seems quite obvious that all understanding is provisional, and that life is about having a perspective. So when I trivialize existence with narrow minded behavior, I want to say I don’t deserve another life, I am spending all my capital right here. My fears will turn out to be unnecessary, but my assumptions and biases will be made foundational. How’s that! You, and I, will find out what it would be like to actually live in world that was really the result of these evolutionary processes so smugly endorsed, like they were superstructures behind eternity.
—–Like they were untempered by beauty and unrefined by sentiment, and, what is really unholy, unwatched by any creator.