I had lunch with an old friend today. We talked about death and what happens after. That wass because a guest scheduled for my morning show has written a book about it. The guest has rescheduled but the subject provokes deep thought.
Most days I find myself hopeful that there’s nothing. Tony Soprano cut to black. Loss of the people we loved can inspire hope that there is something more.
I think about the vastness of the known universe and the daily discoveries about how much bigger it is than we ever imagined, and realize that I am nothing. Think about a speck of dust somewhere in a dark corner of your home. That doesn’t begin to to give perspective to our relationship with all that is.
Now consider time and what 80 years mean in the scope of 13.5 BILLION years back to the big bang, and then many billions of years before that are revealed almost daily by the James Webb telescope. We are sparks that last a millisecond in unmeasurable time.
But what about those that we lost? Were they even real? Here for a flash, and an exchange of love, laughter, learning, conflict, pain and suffering, then gone.
I’m thinking about my friends and family that have passed. Somehow everything feels like I imagined my life and the people in it. We need other specks of dust to feel connection with. If you’re reading this, there’s a possibility that you imagined me. But why?
Why did you need me to be in your movie? Whether you love me, hate me, or any degree of like or indifference in between, you cast me in your movie. I did the same for you. We exist to each other on purpose EVEN of that purpose seems like the result of an accident. More importantly, we will be written out of each other’s story in a blink of an eye.
Reaching the age where every meetup with an old friend inevitably turns to “did you hear so and so died?” requires that you contemplate mortality. I reached that age 20 years ago. Our crew lived pretty hard and fast I guess. Perhaps the miniscule nature of our existence, both in time and space is designed to make us appreciate each other in the moment more. Maybe I just need to smoke some DMT and talk to trhe angels. I’m thinking about all the people who have gone and can’t help feeling like they were just my imagination.