Musings on the Afterlife
Is there a life where we exist, not in bodies, but in thought forms?
It is inevitable that, as the candles on your birthday cake threaten to melt the icing from the heat they generate, your thoughts turn to what is to come and what you leave behind.
This morning I was composing a piece on how the constant renovation of our Victorian neighbourhood — the endless drone of buzz saws and sanders — can feel like a dead weight that has seeped into my cells and leaves me numb.
It just never ceases. But what good would it do to speak such thoughts out loud? To remind people that silence is important; that the sounds of nature are being lost in our cities because nothing can compete with the shrill harshness of electric tools and people needing to make their mark.
So I decided noise therapy was my best hope and plugged myself in. Why? Because it gave me control; a modicum of power where I felt I had none; by evening out the sound. Silence? Well, that will just have to wait until I pass.
Ah! But is the afterlife silent? Is there an afterlife? Is there a life where we exist, not in bodies, but in thought forms?
I do not know, but I do believe that our soul — the essence of who we are — lives on. If that turns out to be wrong, then by the time I pass, it will not matter. The inner peace it brings me in this noisy world, I would not swap for certainty.
So here I am trying my best to ignore the ear-defended builders and renovators; the do-it-yourself-ers. And I think of what life would be if just the essence of who we are remains.
Would we seek to defend and build virtual walls around us? What would we have to defend? Would we seek family and friends and those who have gone before?
How about our ancestors? Would we visit them, or would they line up as a welcoming party when we open our etheric eyes?
Would we have any senses?
If we are thought alone, would we have feelings? Would we remember our life on earth, and would that be our encyclopaedia of experience that our thoughts would leaf through?
This afternoon, I imagined remembering sitting on the sofa in my living room, feeling the warmth of the cushions at my back, the shape and size of the room, the daylight, the tree outside.
I saw myself remembering the irritation of the noise and then my perspective spun out, like a drone rising above my neighbourhood and taking in the beauty, the wildlife, my neighbours, and the friendliness that surrounds me.
Suddenly, the buzzing saw was minuscule, and I was part of something great. Something precious.
I felt the connections; I felt the belonging, the familiarity, the sense of safety, but I also saw how small my perspective could become.
How the ear-defenders of the builders could be my ear-defenders, too, as I limit my openness to the world around me and mused that, in Spirit, I would see the whole and not just the part.
How would that be to have a bird’s-eye perspective? To live in a virtual world where you are transparent to others, and they to you, and, yet, there is no fear, no reason to defend, but a sense of exploration and wanting to understand how everything fits together.
A realm of thought and feeling intertwined.
I was surprised my imagination did not soar to fantastical heights. If anything was possible, then what would be the essence of life that we would build?
It seemed simple to me; love and connection first and foremost.
Discovery and understanding coming next; reviewing our time on earth, maybe even together from that bird's-eye perspective where we see our impact, the opportunities we missed, the damage we may have done, and where we made a difference.
Would that exploration lead us to the feet of the Ancients? Is there a hierarchy we would have to navigate? Would our journey be understanding ourselves or understanding all who inhabit the Spirit realm?
With our appetites for knowledge whetted, would we naturally explore the wonder that is life? Would we become curious about the crystals that we now see at the centre of our earth?
Would we look up in newfound wonder at the stars above our head? Would the stars still shine upon us in the afterlife?
Would the planet, this blue orb, become transparent to us? Would we feel the pull of the planets as they encircle us?
Would we hear the sounds of Creation? Would we hear bird song or see the transformation in a baby as it is born? A being of Light, just as we are, entering into flesh and bone, and remember how the clothing of our flesh narrowed our perspective but also gave us freewill.
Who would have thought that my answer to the question, “What would you seek if you could have everything,” would be love, connection, and belonging? But that is my answer.
And as I rise very slightly in my imagination, above my neighbourhood, with all its noise, I see that is what I have right here, right now.
I do not need to release my body to feel part of something greater, to know that the better part of me is infinite. It is here, now, in the peace of belonging and the connections of love.
No buzz saw can destroy inner peace, it is made of Light, a Light that is eternal and waits to welcome us all home.
© ZD Finn 2023
Finn runs a healing and meditation practice in London, publishes her own inspired journals, and offers mentoring to those seeking to strengthen their own soul connection.
Q&A If you have questions on this, or anything else I have written, please comment or email me via zdfinn.com and I will do my best to answer, either from the Teachings I have studied or inspirationally.
