Neither light nor dark, neither blissful nor fearful, neither embracing nor distant. It simply is.
The chill is not uncomfortable as I lie on the earth, beneath no cloud. The air smells of ancient soil, steeped in millennia. I can almost picture spiders, snakes, and creatures that slip in the shadows sharing this space but there is no fear in me. Just inches above, a ceiling of weathered oak, offering its final service in this afterlife. The manmade capsule around me feels comforting, yet claustrophobic. The thought of eternity here stirs a fear too deep to fully grasp, but I push it aside and surrender to the moment.
Alone, there is only one voice the sound of my own thoughts. Introspection becomes a refuge from the looming silence, for in this stillness, even nothingness seems more daunting than the creatures that might slither in the dark. As I always have, I listen to what I have to say what I think.
I lived fully. I loved my work. I hugged my children. I relished the joy of meeting new people. I welcomed the never ending needs of my century-old home. I embraced the chaos and camaraderie of friends. I reveled in the everyday blessings of being me.
I smile thinking of my job selling cruises, the very thing that made others happy. I was the best at it in my office, and I thrived on sharing joy, fulfilling dreams. Many clients became lifelong friends, returning again and again.
I think of my children birthdays, vacations, but also the quiet moments: their tiny hands seeking refuge from imaginary monsters, their sweet voices singing Disney songs, their scraped knees and broken hearts. They carry pieces of me, and those pieces will pass down through generations.
Just days ago, I held my wife, not the earth. The simple touch of familiar skin her fingers brushing mine, her lips meeting mine, sending electric thrills down my spine. After all these years, we were still discovering each other, becoming one while remaining distinct. "Till death do us part" takes on new meaning when "us" becomes "you" and "me," or the memory of me.
Not long ago, I was racing through the woods on my mountain bike, adrenaline surging. My friends were hot on my heels, daring me to push harder. The speed, the danger, the sharp rhythm of my breath it was the essence of life. I felt invincible, screaming through the trails, urging my body to go faster. I was alive. More than alive.
Looking back, I see how my life was filled with blessings. The joyful moments dominate my thoughts, but the darker shadows occasionally slip in during these reflective moments. A reckoning is due, but it is too late for atonement.
Regret clouds the memories of happiness. I never told my parents how much I appreciated them until they were gone. I failed friends who needed me, letting them drift away while I busied myself with trivial concerns. There were times I hurt my wife, and times I let my ego tear at our bond. I should have walked away from petty disputes at work, instead leaving behind a trail of bitterness and hardship for my family. The person who rests here beneath the earth deserves a good reckoning.
And then, there are the things beyond my control the missed opportunities, the people lost to time, the pain of loss. "If only..." I whisper to myself, only to remember that fate is random and indifferent. Yet the losses still leave a hole in me.
But all of that is behind me now. I push the regrets aside, where they join the claustrophobia and the darkness of slithering things.
Now, I take stock. No pain. No anxiety. No expectations. This is peace, pure and simple. It feels like the Corpse Pose from my yoga practice at rest, in stillness, at one with the earth.
"Hon, you have a phone call!"
My wife's voice shatters the stillness.
"Alan? The phone!"
I open my eyes and see a square of light beyond my feet. Her silhouette hovers in the doorway, framed in the glow.
"Can you come out? It's the life insurance guy."
"Yeah. It'll be a minute. Tell him I’ll call him back. I need to get out of this hole."
I flick on my flashlight and wriggle through the tight, shallow trench beneath the house, then stand up, hunched, and emerge from the crawl space.
"Did you get the pipe fixed?" she asks.
"Yeah, it was quick."
"You’ve been under the house for an hour. What were you doing?"
I shake the dirt from my hair, brushing off my clothes, and offer the simplest explanation.
"Pondering life and death," I say.
