What Comes Next*

They lower me to the ground, but I am not aware of this. Perhaps, I’m inside a coffin. It’s what alive people do for dead people, right? I can’t be sure.

There are voices, no sounds, but made by voices. Nothing is coherent. Maybe a service for me? There’s light tapping with two rhythms. I must guess, rain, while throwing flowers at my coffin. I can’t know for sure. A good guess, though. It doesn’t even matter.

I don’t know if I’m at the end. I don’t know if this awareness is real. I do know one thing: I died, but I don’t remember how. I don’t know where to go from here, wherever “here” is. I’m not sure if it’s all black or just empty.

…..

Without sensory warning, an entity comes to my awareness. I’m not sure how to look for it, but I know it’s here.

“God?” I asked. I mean, who else would be here? “Or whatever name you prefer. I know you’re there,” I continued.

“The name does not matter. It is you all that gives me these names,” the entity responded.

The response was not a voice, but as if we share a thought. I clearly understand, it seems.

“Okay. God it is,” I don’t know what else to say.

For a moment, God and I linger. No words, just our presence. For a moment, could I only have realized my existence, was when I no longer did.

“Well, no questions for me? You’d be the first one, then,” God starts.

“Uh, yeah, I have questions. Why aren’t you visible or audible? My senses perceive you strangely,” I say.

“That is because you do not have senses anymore. You do not even have a body,” God continues.

Of course. I am dead. That’s what happens when one dies. The mind and body separate. That’s all there is to it. But what comes after that?

“So, what comes next? Or is this the end?” I ask God.

“Why don’t we find out together? Let’s talk about your life.”

“Okay, what about my life? Aren’t I just… you know… supposed to go to heaven or something?” I asked, confused.

“It’s not really heaven as you think it is. It is better than life on Earth, however. It’s less competitive, or so I’ve heard,” God goes on.

I see my life before me, literally. Everything I’ve done, everything that happened to me. Everything. Even the things I don’t remember, it’s all recalled in front of me. Describing everything would take a lifetime.

“Everyone represents an idea. You’ve died now because you’ve done everything you need to do to live, breath, represent, whatever you possibly could do to understand your idea. Now that you’re dead, you’re here to realize it, so you can carry on and… well you’ll just find out,” God tells me.

“Okay what kind of idea are we talking about? Like lessons, concepts, something abstract?” I pry.

“Abstract, exactly,” God replies.

“Okay, well I lived an ordinary life. Middle class, didn’t live in poverty, didn’t live in a palace either, I — ”

“Ordinary, extraordinary, it is life. Judging your life is not why you’re here. You already did that when you were alive. You are here because you are to understand your idea, your essence,” God interrupts me.

God seems to sense my cluelessness. I can’t bring myself to say anything.

“Your life is in pieces. No one ever dies completing everything they pursue in life. Death is what completes their life. Everyone comes here to ‘glue’ their life, thus realizing their idea,” God tries a little more.

“So I’m looking for a big picture,” I realize.

I should have paid attention more in English class.

“Yes, the idea. Your idea,” God says.

My life plays like a movie, but unedited. It’s like a set of puzzles. I can’t move them because I’m supposed to solve it in my head.

I see my years in college. I saw my older sister when she and I played outside when we were children. I see the birth of my first child. I saw my husband when we met for the first time. I see my life. That’s all I see.

“What is my life supposed to mean outside of it?” I am beyond confused. I keep watching.

All my life, my belief in God was loose. Sure, my family went to church, but only during important holidays like Easter or Christmas. I only prayed to him whenever I was struggling and what ever good came and happened to me, I would thank him through an expression just about everyone would say: “Thank God”. In all honesty I was thankful for the probability that good things could happen, that the dice landed where I would want it to be, not because God was behind the good things.

“Do you understand now?” God asks, interrupting the silence.

What does God want me to say?

“I was supposed to learn about you not through my life, but through my death,” that’s all I could say. What else could it be?

“Is that all you see?” God asks.

“What do you mean? What else could it mean — “ I quickly respond.

“After everything you’ve gone through, the answer lies in front of you… well, this won’t be the first time.”

“What does that mean?”

“You need to try again. You are not ready.”

“Wait, I don’t understand,” I was desperate.

“Exactly.”

My senses are bombarded, and I don’t know how to explain it.

“What’s happening?” I ask with panic.

God left me. Or I left him. I don’t know where I’m going.

There’s a flash. I think it’s a flash. It’s as if I’m materializing somewhere, or it’s “somewhere” that’s materializing for me. I can’t know for sure.

….

There’s crying. I realize that it’s me who’s crying. Someone in blue looks at me. Their face is covered in blue too. Then I see someone else. A woman. She looks at me and smiles. She’s crying too.

“Hi there,” I hear from her, softly.

I don’t remember the rest.

*This short story appears in a project called “A Flower Opens” (watch here: https://youtu.be/_mpPlPn19ug?t=99 ) and the Reflections Spring 2021 Virtual Unveiling Ceremony (watch here: https://youtu.be/n9SfCIwkoDA?t=2048 )