Thankfully, I am still above ground, taking nutrition and making trouble. When asked about my take on the hereafter, I tell people that you need to go on a journey before you get there. No fancy limo pulls up to drive me there. Instead, my old backpack appears, my guitar is in its case, and I go off on a frolicking detour for epic proportions. My best friend and I visit every top-notch party of all the other travelers, visit fantastic locations, and enjoy the most piquant meals in the best restaurants. Along the way, we run into old friends and tell outrageous stories of all the outlaw things we’ve done. And, oh yeah, cry some tears for the wasted opportunities, lost loves, and tragedies. Good times without some regret couldn’t be really good times.
Eventually, we wind up where most old sailors wind up on the wide river, almost an ocean, at Fiddlers Green. The hostel at Fiddlers Green is part hotel, concert, and dance hall, plus being the embarkment point for the final voyage. It’s a continuous concert with string band music, dancing, and all-night-long conversation.
Now everyone is different, but there is a point when you are ready. It’s different for everyone, but at some point, you know that you are prepared to leave Fiddlers Green. Then you get aboard a fancy paddle wheeler for your final voyage and pass beyond knowing.
I have no clue what happens next. And I am satisfied.
I’m not interested in criticizing, denying, or denouncing someone else’s mode of transport to a final reward or another form of afterlife. But, being so little seems to be known about it, it just seems to make sense to fill in some of the blanks on our own.
Take the opportunity to fill in the blanks. I do have some caveats, however. First, if devils sticking you with pitchforks is your kink, keep them away from me. Also, I’ve never been one for floating on clouds singing hosanna either. Finally, I’m a guitar player, harps and lyres are not my thing, and I don’t do duets with angels of the noncorporeal sort.
Have fun. It’s your afterlife.