What Comes Next

I am often asked why I write conflicting stories over Heaven and Hell, Demons and Dragons.  Now you know.  This is the first personal story I ever did.

WHAT COMES NEXT

 By

Shane Scott

     Death never hurts.  Dying usually does.  Living, that hurts most of all.  That might sound clever or even a little wise.  It is neither.  I cheated.  I died.

     I can hear the chorus of objections, “What do you mean you died?  You are still here!” 

     Obviously I didn’t stay dead.  I wanted to, believe me, I wanted to.  In the spirit of telling only the truth I admit, after dying I begged Her on my hands and knees, “Let me stay, please, let me stay.”

     I sure as hell didn’t see any kind of tunnel or light, maybe I missed that part.  I didn’t see any welcoming relatives either but then, I never got along with my family. Except for my sister, who isn’t dead, the rest were racist, misogynistic hateful people. I guess it is possible they went somewhere else.  I can hope.

     Before dying I wasn’t religious.  It probably comes as a surprise to know after I died, I am still not religious.  I don’t go to church and I take Her name in vain frequently.

     And yes, Her.  I think a lot of people might be surprised when they get there.  God wasn’t human, not really.  She was definitely female though.

     Imagine the most beautiful thing that can possibly be imagined.  OK, that isn’t even close to Her.  She is the most beautiful thing anyone will ever see, that anyone can hope to see.  She is perfect.

     I don’t remember all of it, only bits and pieces but I know for an absolute fact I existed as myself after dying.

     I recall shamelessly begging Her as tears fell from my eyes, “Please, please just let me stay” saying over and over, “I love you, please I love you, let me stay.”  All I could feel was love.

     After I stopped being dead I thought about the experience often and still do some two decades later, unarguably the most profound experience of my life. It took me many years to understand what really happened. 

****

     The ground came towards me at near terminal velocity and I was falling to the ground just as fast.  Above me, my worthless piece of shit parachute snapped and twisted refusing to fully open or be cut loose allowing my reserve to deploy.  I was so fucked, and not in a good way.

     A moment of unbelievable pain, then I was with Her shamelessly begging to stay, as I previously mentioned.

     After an indeterminate time of a few minutes or forever, I can’t really say, that I spent begging She answered me in a gentle voice, sounding sad. “You can’t stay, Scott.  You have to go back for a little while.”

     Then She touched my heart. I still feel where she touched me to this day, like some wonderful gift is now in my heart.

     And I opened my eyes, in agony, splattered on a dirt field with nothing more than a broken arm.  OK, my bladder was empty as well if you must know.

     These many years later I understand.

     What I felt, that overpowering love wasn’t my love for Her.  It was Her love for me, so overwhelming that I all I could do was echoed it back to Her.

     And I am certain I felt only the smallest amount of Her love, the smallest amount more than nothing that could be called something.  It’s not the face of God that will destroy a person but the full force of Her love. 

     It doesn’t matter, in my secret prayers I ask Her to let me feel that. Anyone would do the same.

     I have no doubt God loves me.  I am not nearly as certain She likes me.  For one, despite my begging and pleading She did not let me stay.           

     My life hasn’t been a bed of roses since then either.  Not by a long shot.  I sometimes think maybe she sent me to the other place, but no, that doesn’t feel right. 

     I think I am supposed to learn something.  That feels right, but I swear, I have not a clue what I am supposed to learn.  I hope I figure that part out soon.

     Three years ago when my Doctor told me I had leukemia it didn’t frighten me.  My casual reaction frightened the doctor though and he called me three days later to stress the seriousness of cancer.  It still didn’t frighten me.  How could it?  

     I am not afraid of dying.  How could I possibly be afraid of going back that place I have missed for over twenty years? 

     I have, since dying, tried to pay more attention to the living thing and feel pretty sure the dying thing will take care of itself at some unknown, unpredictable vague future.  The dying thing needs no help from me. 

     I say with great confidence I will die at exactly the right time and right place from the right thing.  That might be leukemia or something else entirely.   

     I just hope I figure out why I had to come back here for a while, so I don’t have to come back again.