Death bed chats #1: The universe is droll

“A universe from nothing.” Such a silly idea: Thanks, ingenious physicists. A universe from a Creator. Just as silly. Since our intelligence is only another form of the cosmos’s ignorant energy, we can never know nature. And this means that we – human beings – cannot understand what “something” and “nothing” actually are, what the words can possibly mean. Literally. That’s how ignorant we are: We cannot know what “something” could be, and should therefore remove the term from the scientific vocabulary.

I thought I’d try to imagine myself on my death bed, around age one-hundred-and-three, to see what thoughts and feelings might generate.

* I’ll wonder why people never tried to befriend me, despite my lack of interest in friends and my off-putting nature.

* I’ll picture my wife with such choking, ineffable poignancy that I should die at that moment, not in an hour or so. If, on the other hand, she outlives me, I’ll cling to her like a desperate baby to its mother – drowned in the chemistry of infant, child and adult love and need.

* I’ll scoff with some disgust at the universe for being so fantastic yet so ultimately slippery. “What in the heck are you?” might be my last words.

* I’ll picture the difference between my psychotherapist life and my truth, which is that I remain a lost little boy who was born on the wrong planet.

* I’ll wish to go out to a piece of music. It might be a simple Grieg tune, like his Peasant’s Song, or the first movement of Rachmaninoff’s Second Concerto or the third movement of Grieg’s A minor concerto, or Dinu Lipatti playing Bach, or a Chopin Nocturne, or Paul and Paula’s “Hey, Paula.” That’s if my wife isn’t there. If she is, then her eyes.

* I’ll hold my blog with a tender but firm grip, because I’ve had some meaningful thoughts, though most are too unpleasant for people.

* Like most or all people, I won’t be able to really, fully believe in my “end.” How can I be gone, in life or in dreams, when I feel like the infinite?

* I wouldn’t want to look in the mirror, because at sixty-six I’m still under the delusion that I’m adorable and young-looking for my age, and I would not want to be forced to break that delusion.

* I believe I’d want to walk or hobble outside, preferably at night to see the sky. Even though I’m still the child and really only feel good under the blankets in a state of blurred consciousness, I’d want to appreciate the world one last time. God, if he or she appeared, would not impress me because I wouldn’t be able to believe it. But if the heavens opened up and a shining gold staircase appeared, leading to a greater truth, I would love that, would climb it.

* I will have to put my regrets and sorrows aside ’til later.