Please share your vision of an afterlife!

I have been enjoying quite blissful imaginings of possible afterlifes lately, and so I thought of inviting you all to share your own personally preferred idea of a positive post-death experience. I know many of you don’t believe there is anything at all after death, and others believe in a received religious concept of heaven or reincarnation, all of which is fine and possibly beautiful; rather than those, however, what I would like to hear about is your own imagined vision, if you have one.

cosmos

For instance, a friend recently wrote on my blog his image of death as “closing my eyes into a lover’s embrace, the lover being, in that instance, also the Great Mother.” I thought that was lovely (even though it sounds somewhat incestuous!), and I’d like to hear more, regardless of how much you believe in them or how religiously correct they are. So please share!

About susanbriscoe

English teacher, writer
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16 Responses to Please share your vision of an afterlife!

  1. Lalie says:

    I was raised catholic, but do not believe in god. I always felt that the afterlife was wishful thinking, something made up to deal with the fear of death. My rational mind tells me there is nothing after death, but… When my eldest was born I haemorrhaged badly and was transferred from the birthing center to the hospital in an ambulance. My daughter was to stay behind with the midwives and I strongly, strongly believed (I am crying as I write this) that I had to name her before I was taken away so I could find her later if I did not live.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. Lara says:

    I believe that we (our spirit / soul / energy) can be reunited with those who have gone before and that we can watch over those who are still living. I also believe that we can communicate (not in ways that we may be familiar with or aware of now) with loved ones as well as provide support & reassurance. “Footprints in the Sand” has been a great comfort to me during difficult periods in my life.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. curioussteph says:

    Details I don’t know, Susan. Its my sense that for most of us, we lose the connection to whatever else is there when we incarnate. I do believe in reincarnation, although I don’t have any particular religious beliefs. I’ve encountered enough people through the years in person and through reading who have had “near death” experiences that have me fairly certain that there is something else. My sense of the the spirit world is that there is much more wisdom, love and understanding than we have on this side of the veil. Certainly that’s my hope, for a place of peace, wisdom and understanding. As I write this, I am aware of a great longing within me, a sense that I could go home. Knowledge or wishful thinking, I don’t know. I vote for knowledge, this is what helps me carry on through difficult times and experiences.

    Liked by 3 people

    • susanbriscoe says:

      Yes, it seems many people have this sense of knowing, even though that knowledge may not be subject to proof. Someone else I know has spoken of that longing, of feeling that she belongs on the other side. Perhaps we all would feel that if we were less resistant to death.

      Liked by 2 people

  4. Dear Susan

    Have been raised up in believe we can contact beings that have left this earth and from teenage have heard and had visions from the other side. My page is listed below with our visions. goldenagetocome.org

    Here is YouTube video from James Tyberonn and Archangel Metatron my loving guide about death experience and I have to say I am surprise not more people have watch this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzREUACVncs

    Hope you will be able to contact loved ones also.

    Bjorg

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Curt DeLormier says:

    I think that we become part of a greater whole (of which we are already a part, but can’t fully understand that).
    Below is the closing soliloquy from “The Incredible Shrinking Man” (1957 Sci-Fi movie about a man who physically shrinks down over a period of weeks to an infinitesimal size after being exposed to a glowing mist).
    This soliloquy says what I think happens to us all. I always find it very moving…

    I was continuing to shrink, to become… what? The infinitesimal? What was I? Still a human being? Or was I the man of the future? …So close — the infinitesimal and the infinite. But suddenly, I knew they were really the two ends of the same concept. The unbelievably small and the unbelievably vast eventually meet — like the closing of a gigantic circle. I looked up, as if somehow I would grasp the heavens. The universe, worlds beyond number, God’s silver tapestry spread across the night. And in that moment, I knew the answer to the riddle of the infinite. I had thought in terms of man’s own limited dimension. I had presumed upon nature. That existence begins and ends in man’s conception, not nature’s. And I felt my body dwindling, melting, becoming nothing. My fears melted away. And in their place came acceptance. All this vast majesty of creation, it had to mean something. And then I meant something, too. Yes, smaller than the smallest, I meant something, too. To God, there is no zero. I still exist!

    Liked by 2 people

    • susanbriscoe says:

      Thank you, Curt. I found this very moving too. It really is beautiful and comforting. I haven’t seen the movie, but maybe I’ll try to find it. Thanks for taking the time to share this!

      Liked by 1 person

    • Roy Cross says:

      Great scene, great ending. I saw the film as a kid and I recall the ending quite vividly. The man leaves his house through the basement screen window that just a short while ago he was too big to fit through. He ventures out into his backyard and the film ends. Now, hearing and reading that monologue, I am touched. As a 10 year old kid who watched this film I appreciated the film and its filmmaker, and now with a new perspective I get to admire the writing. Thanks for thinking of this in response to Susan’s request. We’ll do our best to watch the film (although I already recounted most of it to her when she showed me your post!).

      Liked by 1 person

  6. Daniel Laguitton says:

    Hi Susan,
    This entry may be a bit long, but it is my answer to your question.
    I do no have a vision of “afterlife”, a word that can, actually, be a misnomer. I tend to believe that as human beings, and especially as reflective beings, we may be in an afterlife condition right here, or in a “suspended-life” transition, Life was way before what is called “I” came to being and Life will be long after after “I” is gone. That sums up what I sense. Some call it “the spirituality of not knowing”, it is also a spirituality of freedom from “human bondage”. The following quote is a passage of Somerset Maugham’s “Of human bondage” that had struck me the first time I read it some 35 years ago and that I have referred to ever since, because it says so much about life and human bondage and freedom from human bondage. Here it is with no further comment. Be well, Susan, it was good to see you yesterday.

    “”Oh, life,” he cried in his heart, “Oh life, where is thy sting?”
    For the same uprush of fancy which had shown him with all the force of mathematical demonstration that life had no meaning, brought with it another idea; and that was why Cronshaw, he imagined, had given him the Persian rug. As the weaver elaborated his pattern for no end but the pleasure of his aesthetic sense, so might a man live his life, or if one was forced to believe that his actions were outside his choosing, so might a man look at his life, that it made a pattern. There was as little need to do this as there was use. It was merely something he did for his own pleasure. Out of the manifold events of his life, his deeds, his feelings, his thoughts, he might make a design, regular, elaborate, complicated, or beautiful; and though it might be no more than an illusion that he had the power of selection, though it might be no more than a fantastic legerdemain in which appearances were interwoven with moonbeams, that did not matter: it seemed, and so to him it was. In the vast warp of life (a river arising from no spring and flowing endlessly to no sea), with the background to his fancies that there was no meaning and that nothing was important, a man might get a personal satisfaction in selecting the various strands that worked out the pattern. There was one pattern, the most obvious, perfect, and beautiful, in which a man was born, grew to manhood, married, produced children, toiled for his bread, and died; but there were others, intricate and wonderful, in which happiness did not enter and in which success was not attempted; and in them might be discovered a more troubling grace. Some lives, and Hayward’s was among them, the blind indifference of chance cut off while the design was still imperfect; and then the solace was comfortable that it did not matter; other lives, such as Cronshaw’s, offered a pattern which was difficult to follow, the point of view had to be shifted and old standards had to be altered before one could understand that such a life was its own justification. Philip thought that in throwing over the desire for happiness he was casting aside the last of his illusions. His life had seemed horrible when it was measured by its happiness, but now he seemed to gather strength as he realised that it might be measured by something else. Happiness mattered as little as pain. They came in, both of them, as all the other details of his life came in, to the elaboration of the design. He seemed for an instant to stand above the accidents of his existence, and he felt that they could not affect him again as they had done before. Whatever happened to him now would be one more motive to add to the complexity of the pattern, and when the end approached he would rejoice in its completion. It would be a work of art, and it would be nonetheless beautiful because he alone knew of its existence, and with his death it would at once cease to be.
    Philip was happy.”

    Liked by 1 person

    • ctmx6244@citenet.net says:

      Confirmed
      D. Laguitton
      Envoyé de mon BlackBerry, veuillez excuser les raccourcis et\ou absences d’accents.
      Sent from my BlackBerry handheld. Sorry for the shortcuts.

      Like

  7. Catherine Ferrier says:

    Hi Susan, You don’t know me – I think it was my brother Ian who put me onto your blog, not sure. I’m in medicine and so death and dying are very close to my heart. I’m very touched by the honesty and courage in your writing.

    Since reading what you wrote about the “lover’s embrace” at death, I’ve had in mind some Christian mystic poets who have written similar things: heaven as union with the Beloved, who is a person, not a vague mother earth, and in whom we are not dissolved but made more ourselves than we were in this life.

    One is Francis Thompson’s “Hound of Heaven”:
    … All which I took from thee I did but take,
    Not for thy harms,
    But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.
    All which thy child’s mistake
    Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:
    Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’
    Halts by me that footfall:
    Is my gloom, after all,
    Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
    ‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
    I am He Whom thou seekest!
    Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’

    http://www.bartleby.com/236/239.html

    And of course the great St. John of the Cross (in translation):

    O living flame of love
    that tenderly wounds my soul
    in its deepest center! Since
    now you are not oppressive,
    now consummate! if it be your will:
    tear through the veil of this sweet encounter!

    O sweet cautery,
    O delightful wound!
    O gentle hand! O delicate touch
    that tastes of eternal life
    and pays every debt!
    In killing you changed death to life….

    http://www.beliefnet.com/wellness/1999/12/the-poetry-of-st-john-of-the-cross.aspx

    Like

  8. annpappas says:

    My mom had three NDE’s and she went to the light but was told that it wasn’t her time – she came back so disappointed. The feeling when one leaves the body is of absolute bliss and there will be those who were close to you, who have gone before, waiting for you. There are wonderful books about such experiences: Testimony of light by Helen Greaves, Dying to be me by Anita Moorjani and The afterlife of Billy Fingers by Annie Kagan to name three that come to mind.

    Like

  9. theittybittycottage says:

    Susan,

    I just started reading your blog and want to wish you a very blessed and well-feeling Christmas! You are an amazing person sharing your story, and I felt compelled to reply to this post.

    I am a Christian, so we all know that I believe that there is Heaven and Hell… That is all I will say about that.

    The story I wanted to say is that I also work as a nurse and throughout the years I have seen many pass into their after life. Some say they are hallucinating or dreaming, but those that are “dreaming” of bad things and are talking about it describe the same bad things, and those that “dream” about the good things talk about the same good things.

    I am looking forward to hearing all the amazing voices and the singing! The overwhelming peace that is felt, and the ability to say that is really okay to leave this world and enter into the next.

    I wish you and yours all the best this holiday season.

    Like

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