It’s not as abhorrent a thought as I once imagined. That I
have only a few more years to live. On Planet Earth. Here I am. At 82, and
counting. People keep dropping. Like
flies. In their 80s. Could be. That there’s no afterlife. This is all there is.
If so, it won’t matter. Nothing I can do about it. Other than dream of an idyllic
afterlife. While I’m still alive. But better yet. I can try to live to the
fullest. Mostly by using my fertile imagination. Musing.
About what life would be like. As a spirit. Capable of thought. And movement. Allowing me to explore the infinite cosmos. And to fraternize. With
the creator. --Jim Broede
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