MUSINGS ON LIFE AFTER DEATH
Man is cuddly when he was a baby. Like a cat, the kitten is the cutest thing next to the most expensive kiddy toy. As man grows older, he exudes beauty and proportion. Youth is the foundation of his life. As he matures, he gains wisdom and becomes accomplished in whatever it is that he would lay his hands on.
And then, he reaches the twilight years, assuming that he survived the treacherous side of the elements. What happens next is almost a foregone conclusion. He becomes sedate, demure and sensitive to a fault. He is no longer part of the unfolding world. Technology would skip his attention. He would rather breath the air of retrospection rather preoccupy himself with whatever the future holds for him. It is no longer his concern because science has leapt exceeding more than his imagination.
In his estimation, he has already seen and tasted everything. He has been in one place too many. He has known the world and everything around him. He knows that anytime he will no longer stay around to inspire life but would become a food for the multitude of microbes, another form of life in need of sustenance. While he imagines life hereafter, he is in reality a menu waiting to be served in life here-and-now.
He would just content himself with whatever that amuses his state of mind. After all, the brain has limited lifespan than his physique. He may exude strength but his thoughts are no longer consistent. He would better be in the sideline waiting for nature to claim him later.
Only memories and sentiments animate those around him. In a few years, he would be forgotten. Those who are still on the lips of the people would undergo a series of review. Jose Rizal during his prime was a symbol of nationalism. A few years after his death, he would become a popular brand of matchstick! Add a few more years, his name would not only suffer in debate but his reputation would also be questioned. For once Rizal’s monument was a sacred spot in his country’s devotion. Now, it is photobombed like an ordinary selfie. Such is life after death.
William Shakespeare was the best writer known and quoted seriously in every scholarly piece of literature. He was considered one of the gods in the intellectual world. Well for a while though. After a few years from his demise, his reputation was in tatters, rumoured as copycat and worst, suspected as a sexually deranged person. Such is what death has done to life.
The only pristine recollections which would defy contrast and impurity on the beloved person who crossed over are those musings held dear by his family, by his spouse, by his children, by his children’s children. And then it stops until oblivion creeps in. Nothing survives in perpetuity unless the name is fixed in power or in martyrdom. And just the same, in a few generations ahead, it fades away and blown in the wind of consciousness.
Life goes on and death follows. Or, it may be rearranged as death goes on and life follows. Whichever, there is no end and everything begins somewhere. For sure, not even science knows which came first if it is day or night. What is certain however is that, there is night and day.