Kimopolis

Since people are dropping dead left and right, now seems like as good as time as any to discuss death. More specifically, the after life. “A world of never ending happiness where you can always see the sun, day or night,” according his Royal Purple-ness, Prince.  I don’t know if I believe that particular notion of Heaven*, but the topic is now open for discussion.

Near Death Experience by BP-Girl, DeviantArt.com

I have had the unique experience of actually being dead. Twice. I know, I know…LUCKY ME. I wasn’t dead long enough to sustain any permanent brain damage (at least that’s what the doctor’s would have me believe, but those of you who know me well might feel differently). It’s also important to define “dead.” Dead to one person is practically alive to another. Miracle Max explained it best:

Miracle Max: It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there’s usually only one thing you can do.
Inigo Montoya: What’s that?
Miracle Max: Go through his clothes and look for loose change.

You may or may not agree with Max’s concept of death, but to some it is just as valid as bringing people back from the dead. Like Dr. Frankenstein. Or Voodooists.

In my case, dead meant no heartbeat, no respiration and no signs of life. Each death was less than 2 minutes long and, of course, CPR was started immediately to keep my blood and oxygen flowing. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that although a medical professional could do CPR indefinitely, thereby technically keeping me alive, it wouldn’t necessarily bring me back to life. Case in point, Michael Jackson. Usually that’s about the time they bring out the paddles to zap some life back into you, and keep cranking up that dial up until some sort of heartbeat initiates, giving the EMTs the high sign that you might survive. Might, being the operative word. Again, look at Michael Jackson.

There are about a gazillion tales of life after death. Although, not surprisingly, only from those who have been brought back to life. So, as far as reliable sources of quality death information, they aren’t ideal.  (Think of it as a baby when he’s born…sure, he just went through the birthing process, but he couldn’t describe it with any accuracy.) Most of these tales from the crypt, if you will, involve hovering over their own body, watching the medical professionals attempt to revive them, a bright, shinning beacon that beckons them to go into the light, and a sense of calm almost serenity. Much like alien sightings, the proof is supposed to be in the sheer quantity of reanimated people who describe the exact same experience. However, it doesn’t really work like that. In fact, the theory of mass hysteria applies more than the theory of validity.

A film that demonstrates this “white light” phenomenon is the supernatural tear-jerker, Ghost. When Patrick Swazye dies, a brilliant white light shines from above and he is supposed to go into that light and achieve enlightenment or move on to a higher astral plane or something. But he totally screws that up by ignoring the light to attempt to save his wife, Demi Moore. His punishment is becoming an Earth-bound spirit who cannot communicate with the living. He would’ve been better off going into the light. Eventually, things work out and he gets his second chance to ride the stairway to heaven, albeit a bittersweet moment for the widow Demi. (Personally, I think any woman who responds with “ditto” when you tell her for the last time, before you vanish into eternity, “I love you. I’ve always loved you,” is a heartless bitch. Plus, I bet half the people reading this don’t even know what a ‘ditto’ is. Might as just well have said “Xerox”.)

ANYyouknowyouthoughtitwascreepwhenitlookedlikeWhoopiandDemiweregoingtomakeoutandIbetthiswouldn’tbeyourfavoriteromanticfilmofalltimethenwouldit, one of the funniest films to hypothesize about what happens after you die is Albert Brooks’ Defending Your Life. No white lights, no opportunities to stay on Earth and become a ghost, when you die you get taken to a city much like any other city. You’re checked into a hotel, encouraged to eat copious amounts of the most delicious food you’ve ever tasted, and await a trial in which your entire life will be evaluated by the “Big Brains.” Do well, and you move on to a better place. Prove to need more time on Earth to evolve, and they send you back lickety split. You’re born again and get another chance. Of course, you won’t remember anything that happened after your death, so a learning experience it isn’t.

For me, though, the thought of an afterlife really chaps my hide. Life is difficult enough as it is. And now I am expected to live FOREVER with all of my dead friends and relatives. And THAT’S supposed to be Heaven? Hell is supposedly worse. Something about having your skin flayed from your body, again and again, for all eternity. I think I am going to take a HUGE Pasadena on the whole lot, Heaven and Hell. In my experience, dead is dead. There is nothing else. You are dead. Oh, Kim, but what about your SOUL? Well, I have an answer for that, not surprisingly.

Your soul is what makes you who you are. It is the life within. When you die, that life can no longer abide, trapped in its carcass coffin. Unlike your heart and your brain, your soul leaves behind its mortal shell and gets absorbed into those that love you. If you think of your soul as your life, then imagine the millions of different parts of your life you’ve shared with everyone you’ve ever known. Now, those living beings are what keep your soul alive. Call them memories, if it pleases you, but the label doesn’t matter.

So, is there life after death? Sort of.  Is there consciousness after death? I don’t believe so. The only real life after death is the life we live inside the hearts and minds of those who knew and miss us. However, if I am wrong, which isn’t an impossibility, it’s just very rare, I’d like to think of the afterlife as Buffy describes it to Spike once her meddling friends have selfishly brought her back from the dead.

Buffy: I was happy. Wherever I was… I was happy… at peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time… didn’t mean anything. Nothing had form. But I was still me, you know? And I was warm. And I was loved. And I was finished. Complete. I – I don’t understand theology or dimensions, any of it really… but I think I was in heaven. And now I’m not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out, by my friends. Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch. This is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that. Knowing what I’ve lost.

Heaven would have to be a lot like that for me to want to spend eternity there. But, still…I think I’d rather have the nothingness, because, like I said, then I wouldn’t even know.

*Does anyone remember the store Heaven? It was the precursor to Ahhs! and it was filled with all sorts of cool doodads and thingamajigs. The most coveted of all was the Heaven T-shirt. The original was white with bright red lettering that resembled the Flashdance logo. I wanted one of those more than life itself. Well, more than a pair of gellie shoes, at the very least. However, these were before the days that I had my own money supply, and my mom refused to spend $18 on a T-shirt. I suspect the sticker shock was particularly astonishing because my father used to own a wholesale menswear business, and she knew exactly how much it actually cost to produce that T-shirt and silkscreen a logo on it. Needless to say, I never owned a Heaven tee. I bought a pinback button and attached it to my jean jacket, but it just wasn’t the same. *SIGH*

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