Filet of Soul

When I was six, I dreamt that my father died in a lush, forest
park.
I am usually ill at ease and it is my practice to turn this into the
intellectual problems of the world.
Because I am largely blind to my own moral failings, I perceive the
world as being immensely injust.
I do, however, have some reason to believe in my own moral value and to
resent certain aspects of society.
I wonder what death is, i.e. how consciousness might perceive it.
Is my consciousness separate from that of other people, even those who
I like?
My thoughts and feelings, but not my actions, support this idea.
I am quite afraid of dying but only a little of being dead.