I imagine nothing, the end as nothing. Not a scary, definite nothing. But a time-stopped, warm silence kind of nothing. The kind that enshrines you within its peace… no, not peace. The end is more than peace. It’s the fullness in your chest as you come face to face with the tremulous ominipotence of the universe.
That’s it. That’s what the end is. Stilled floating through the darkness of the universe. And the warmth must be the stars; the life you lived, the memories of love so bright they light up your existence. Your end, your nothingness.
And I imagine a calm, a calm so filling it becomes your spirit. Your soul, dipped in the blackness of the universe. The end can’t be definite…
I grew up Christian, made to believe in the goodness of Heaven, the eternity of life in the sky. I would be good, pure, made clean of my sinful humanity as only the spirit of God would dwell within me.
This bothered me though.
Not the loss of what made me human- at ten I wasn’t sophisticated enough to realize that everything that defined me was what made me human. No. What bothered me was the thought of forever. Of the endlessness that it must be. Of forever and ever and ever, till my head hurt. Of the blankness every moment must consist of. No days or nights or minutes: no rain, harsh sun. No more wonderful moments. Just one. Forever. And ever and ever and ever.
I don’t want to go to hell. And I’m fairly sure I don’t want heaven either. I cross myself for the nothingness. At the end of my life, old, weary and poor of breath, I imagine the universe embracing me. The darkness a cotton bed underneath me, encompassing me within it’s calming kiss. My rest shall be the nothingness.