I am talking to myself now. They say that it is the first sign of madness, talking to yourself. Not that it matters what they say because they don’t exist anymore. Nor do I for that matter. But I must exist, mustn’t I? After all, if I didn’t exist, then I wouldn’t be thinking would I?
Who knows?! Am I the only one who exists in this non-existence, or are there others like me? Are we ‘non-existing’ together, blindly unaware of each others ‘non-existence’? How can I possibly exist, yet not exist at the same time? Beats the hell out of me.
Whatever hell is. Hell is where this all started from, I am sure. The sheer terror of it. Sulphurous torturous flames, licking their way up and down your ethereal body for all eternity. Evil, non-consuming fires burning into your eyes, gleefully dancing around you whilst tormenting your genitals and entering all orifices. And then comes the excruciating dysphoria that marries your agonies to your new-found, pain induced insanity. No respite, no end and no escape. It was enough to drive a small boy insane. Nuns, priests, all were preaching the fires of damnation unless you did things exactly their way. Not Gods way, but theirs.
I tried not to believe in the furies of hell. But if you believe in God, then it figures that you have to believe in the devil. Believe in Heaven, and you have to believe in hell. Everything has to have a balance, a counterpart, and an opposite. Good and bad, black and white, beauty and ugliness. It all has to be even and balanced. So I disregarded the lot. Became a non-believer. I decided that life began at birth and ended at death. No spirit, no soul, nothing to move on to the ‘paradise’ that only existed in the minds of foolish and frightened old men.
The body dies I decided, and with it, my so-called spirit and essence. Non-existence. Nothing more, and nothing less. Oblivion for eternity was my fervent belief. No love, no hate, no good, no evil. Non-existence would not have a balance because it wouldn’t exist. But thinking about it, if you give something (or nothing) a name, then it begins to exist doesn’t it? So have I created something that doesn’t exist out of something that had never existed until I named it, and thus gave it existence in its own right? By my very belief, have I taken something that cannot possibly be, labelled it and given it life?
Was it my chosen beliefs during my lifetime that has got me here? Would I be somewhere else now if I had had faith and belief in a better existence? Maybe, but who knows? Sure as hell I don’t. So should I start believing now, or is it too late? I think it is.
At least I can think. At least I am left with thoughts. But then what is the point of thought when you have nothing good or positive to think about. I have no other senses. Apart from, that is a type of sixth sense. I see nothing, not even darkness, I hear nothing, taste and smell nothing and I have no sensation of touch. I can’t move and I don’t even know if I am warm or cold. I am nothing.
What I can sense though, is being dead. I am physically dead, but with the power of thought. And the power of a sixth sense. I am sensing my body, lying in the ground. I am sensing it slowly rotting away in its wooden box. I am sensing what I must look like in my advanced state of decomposition. I am sensing the smell of my decaying and putrefying flesh that was once so important to me. I am sensing the sounds of the voracious little subterranean creatures trying to gnaw their way inside to devour me, to strip every morsel of flesh from my skeleton. I am sensing how it must feel to be eaten, whether dead or alive.
I am sensing too that maybe I do have a soul after all. I am also sensing that it will never be free of my body.
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