Thankful for the Accident

It is another Earth, not this one. It is some other dimension, not here. Dark and terrifying, the world operates solely upon greed and pleasure, wealth and power. With little toward which to live faithfully here, individuals sense a dearth of ambitions beyond comfort, materialistic wealth, and power. How did such a place come to be? The unthinkable (some might say 'the obvious') occurred: God, anyone's god, was revealed as false, a myth, a pacifying story. Somehow (and I have no clue as to how such would be scientifically possible), scientists reached the end of the universe, the terminus of space & time and found God's office empty, beholding a mere weathered note on the desk reading, "Gotcha!" Instead of divine inspiration, they found the makings of a mere cosmological accident (let us presently ignore from where this accident arose). In sum, this parallel world enters the anguishing times of a surely godless life. Hereupon resides the aforementioned nihilistic throws of pure hedonism presently consuming this world.

Somehow, you exist as one of the mere handful of those continuing to find meaning in personal morality, embracing compassion and love in spite of the absence of higher origins. Weathering this world into your older years, or until plagued by some unfortunate disease prior to "your time," you currently find yourself laying upon what is considered one's deathbed. Are you fearful of the certain nothingness to ensue? Are you glad to be rid of this body and meaningless world plagued by suffering? Difficult to say. What you do sense creeping over you, though, arises as significantly unexpected. Longingly viewing those around you through the blurred streaks of tears, you mournfully take in the presence of your children, dear friends, and even your loyal pet unwilling to be removed from the foot of the bed. Gently at first, then more akin to the rush of a potent drug, what you unmistakably experience is gratitude. Making no sense given your life was not 'presented' to you in a gift like fashion, you nonetheless embrace the spirited yearning into every nook and cranny of your being.

This unheard of and foreign reaction to your imminent nonbeing seemingly defies all logic. Not to worry, doctors and scientist will posthumously refute such nonsense as a mere rush of endorphins and dopamine, natural to the brain's preparation for death. "People do crazy things on their deathbed," they explain. "They will forgive others, bestow fortunes upon charity, and even confess to a life wasted and unlived in pleasure rather than meaning," they confidently finish, cleaning their hands of the matter. So, is it a neurological torrent of chemicals, seemingly unleashed in a last hoorah of chaos (and if so, why)? Or, in reflection and contemplation, does one perceive existence more lucidly than ever before, as one's final moments usher in thoughts of that which matters most?

And what about the anger commonly accompanying one's awareness of imminent mortality? Does the enragement at dying negate the gratitude experienced? Does this point to the senselessness of all of this? Or, on the other hand, does anger arise from the awareness that life was mostly just good, and to be thieved of this is just simply lousy? Seemingly, then, there is some logic to anger residing alongside gratitude. Perhaps, the two really point in the same direction.

What does this gratitude signify, then? Honestly, the more I contemplate this sense, the more I find the feeling-blessed-by-my-unexplainable-existence & existential accountability essentially analogous. Isn't to treat an element with thanks and appreciation to respect its worth and act accordingly? Isn't to not waste a finite life, due to its oddly blessed quality, exercising responsibility in the gift of existence? And to be thankful, to feel as though one's soul was gifted, does that imply a giver? What does it all mean? I just don't know.