What Were We Talking About? Oh, Yeah.

There is no God but reality. 
To seek Him elsewhere 
is the action of the Fall

Sorry, folks, it's on my mind. Can't help it. That stint in the hospital was some kind of journey. Is this the future or just a glitch? I am aware that the hook could come at any time without so much as a knock on the door. From here to there in a blink. No time to dawdle. You're just snatched. 

So, what did I learn? Nothing. I learned Nothing. I could have died, they told me, and, for all I know, I did because it was... Nothing. An awareness of Absolutely Nothing At All. No awareness of awareness. I had no idea  what had happened or what was happening. I had no dreams, no visions, no celestial music, no eunochs playing lutes. no light at the end of the tunnel, no tunnel, nada, zip, period...Nothing, and totally unaware of Nothing. Unaware of being unaware. Just Nothing. Not even a zero. Not even. Bleak is a term we use but that's just a collection of letters we humans concocted on our own. In the universe, there was no such thing as bleak until we codified it. No such thing as bleak or any of its synonyms. Only endless process. Still, how to comprehend Nothing being Nothing At All? A Nonoccurrence. A neverness. It's not even darkness. It's beyond darkness. No wonder we make things up.  

N'Duh. Sorry. I just realized I've been talking about classic existentialism, Sartre style. Beckettstyle. An empty universe devoid of anything but itself - morality, religion, faith, algebra, curiosity, the twenty-third psalm, treasury bonds, debt, bitcoin - everything - all of it made up. Yet, here we are in it, free to choose our own way, to choose absolutely, without guidance, and that can be frightening, can't it? It obviously was to Sartre. And Beckett. "Nothing to be done." So why not do it?

True story. Some years ago, Jamie spent a week at the bedside of a friend who was dying, and, in fact, did die while Jamie was there. This had been a profound experience for her. Her beliefs are strong and deep. They are not mine, but they don't have to be. I have ways of my own. Throughout the week they prayed and sang and reminisced and shared and chanted  prayers from different traditions and their own traditions and ones they made up...

        "Jamie, Jamie, Jamie," I said wanting to comfort her.

        "You want me to stop talking."

        "Just for a minute. This is important."

She assumed that "I'm listening" posture of hers.

        "What?"

        "When my time comes, please, no songs, no prayers, no chanting, no trinkets, no blessings, no benisons, no Kaddish, no 
davening. Just bring me a bucket of fried chicken."

       "Vanilla milkshake on the side?"

        "Large, please."