What is one obvious thing we humans have in common? We come in many colors and all shapes and sizes, but we arrive on Earth in bodies, many of us ready to tackle life, hoping we will wake up and remember who we are and why we came here. Our sparks of life are given us by the Force that created the universe and, at some point, our sparks will be called home. Our loved ones will be left to deal with our passing and, most likely, questions about their own mortality; and whether or not we who’ve crossed over really will be waiting for them when they make the transition.
What is it like, nearing the end of this physical life? My mom will be 83 this year and she recently told me she won’t be here next year at this time. She was one of seven children and five are gone—just her and her younger sister now. I don’t think she is afraid to die at this point. In fact, having to work yet to survive is wearing her down. Maybe her situation is what had to happen for her to accept that we have no choice in the matter: We come and we go and some of us suffer the tearing pain of leaving life, our children and other loved ones. Life marches on (frustratingly!) without us. I hope I get to peek in on my children once in a while and I wonder if any of our ancestors check on us. Can they see everything? And, are we all wise on the other side? Or, can we still hold onto our grudges? Do we bless or curse our relations from the other side?
I suppose the biggest question is, ‘What happens to us when our bodies go to sleep for the last time?’ Should we fear that we simply end then? Or do our sparks, our souls, carry on in the invisible world? Are we beings of translucent light, appearing as we did when at the end of life–or when we were, say, thirty? (If I have a say in the matter, I’m voting for thirty. “Tsk, tsk. Vanity, thy name is woman!”)
What does happen to us when we die? There is enough in life and literature that I believe we carry on, perhaps experiencing a life review, with some quiet time for reflection on how we did this time around. I recently read somewhere that we must face everything we did, both the joy and the pain we caused, and if we lived darkly, we grow from feeling the effects of the darkness we created. That makes sense to me and I hope it’s true, even though we must then, in the next life, become the victims instead of the perpetrators. It makes sense that we reap what we have sown, but will running on the great (hamster-like) wheel of time ever end? I believe it will—when we become aware of our oneness with All That Is. No need to be hamsters then!