Exploring the Multiverse: Part 26

I found it weird that, on impact, my consciousness continued to manifest its usual musings, as well as the continual war between me, myself, and I. I was in a dark place, resembling a personalized purgatory. I have to say, the fact that it was a dark place did not seem like “Ray’s Purgatory”. I would at least have some colorful drapes or funny refrigerator magnets.

Purgatory is a strange concept, especially since it is not totally concrete. It’s something that can only be defined from a personal standpoint through its fabrication by faith, which is also defined differently by different people. Everyone’s purgatory is so strangely specific that its ability to be comprehended is complex, as is the overall idea of an afterlife, which, in it of itself, is its own universe, yet to be explored and its existence based solely on faith.

My idea of purgatory is that from the Albert Brooks’ movie Defending Your Life, where the soul passes on through justification and trial; a literal representation of the interpretation of purgatory in Catholic doctrines. While I had that odd encounter with Xenu, I did not understand what he said, why he said it and how I should interpret it.

My purgatory was still exceptionally bland. It was very much like the atmosphere I absorbed when falling, minus, well, the falling part. It seemed to have no beginning and no end, both in a physical sense and time sense. At least when I was falling, there was a concept of time due to my risk of meeting the end. Now I can’t tell whether this is supposed to be the end or the beginning of something.

Oddly for a place of gray and nothingness, there was nothing for me to do and there was nowhere to properly idle. I began dreaming of that magical park bench located in the acid-trip part of my brain and how it was nice while it lasted. I mean, I never thought how valuable something that holds asses was until my ass was left hanging.

While I am quite knowledgeable on the basic aspects of spiritual concepts, I had no clue how it would apply to me. I had no direction whatsoever, something I am not acquainted with encountering. There has usually been a path for me to follow in my life, but then I was certain that there was no path because I had no life in every sense of existence.

I spent my childhood trying to become the man I envied, the working kind. The ones that are independent and raved upon. Instead, through consequence, I lost my innocence, which usually doesn’t dissipate around the age of ten. At the time, I never minded it because I thought I was doing what I wanted. Years later, I would come to regret that I sacrificed my innocence much like a high school football player loses his virginity. It’s something to be cherished, and I didn’t do it justice.

This is part of my conundrum. I have spent years of my life in a basement working within the harness racing industry. It’s something that I enjoyed immensely, but began to loathe as I grew older. Not that I didn’t enjoy making money writing for people, but the sport itself lost its luster and, because of that, my life grew into panic. I felt trapped by my decisions to work within racing at an early age and thought of it as a conviction that cannot be appealed. I was not even ten when I started, so the little dumb fart I was couldn’t know what he wants. He secretly plotted this against future me so that I’d be in this boat. It’s all his fault.

That’s when it hit me. I shouldn’t hate myself for doing something I don’t enjoy, or at least question to not enjoy. The years I spent covering races weren’t wasted, as they prompted something within me to suddenly not resent my actions. I needed to live a life worth living, to be able to obtain happiness through the destruction of confusion. That, perhaps, is the mission in any life. After reaching my epiphany, I overheard a large, omnipotent voice.

“Holy shit, what the hell did you do to him?” it said, and the gray vastness began to dissipate.