No one knows what happens after death. We know what happens to the body, but hardly anything about what happens to the person. We have plenty of theories about it, though, many in religious texts as well. There is nothing “right” or “wrong” about any of them. They are theories, after all, or at least ideas that cannot be objectively verified. Whichever theory best matches our belief, faith or hope becomes a kind of truth to us.
One day we’ll know for sure what happens after death, but to know it we have to die first. We cannot unfortunately share our knowledge with those who are still living. What exactly happens after death will forever remain a mystery.
People who are curious about what happens after death are in no hurry to die in order to get that knowledge. They want to know the truth without having to die as a precondition. That is not going to happen. Ever.
Anyway, what this means is that now, when we are still living, we have the freedom to hope, to speculate, to imagine, to dream about what might happen after death. Here is one hope, a speculation for sure, a kind of wild imagination or, what some may even say, a weird dream.
It was bound to happen one day. Finally it does. I die.
I find myself outside a giant door. I had never seen a door so large and so imposing and yet it has a kind of softness to it. The door is closed. I have no idea what this place is. It doesn’t even feel like a place. There’s no one around. All that I see is this big closed door in front of me.
Is this the door that separates me from what has been described variously as the Kingdom of God, the Paradise, Vaikuntha, Kailasa, Brahmaloka, or as salvation, moksha, nirvana? Perhaps it is. Or maybe not. I have no idea how I got here and what I’m supposed to do now.
But something must be done. I can’t just stand here doing nothing. So I do what people have always done when they find a closed door. Knock, knock.
Suddenly I hear a voice. No idea whose voice it is or where it is coming from.
Who’s there?
I can barely hear myself say a hesitating “Me.”
Me who?
I instinctively blurt out my name.
Huh?
Clearly, it doesn’t work. I realize that my name means nothing here. I need to introduce myself differently. I describe where I lived on the earth and what I did there.
That’s not interesting and it doesn’t matter now anyway.
I try identifying myself by my age. When that doesn’t help, I try other things. I announce, one after another, my gender, color, race, class, my cultural roots and my religious leanings.
All of those things made sense when you were living as a human being. That’s ended. Who are you now, at this moment?
I am baffled. What am I going to say? I’ve run out of ideas. I have no words now to describe myself because all of my defining traits have been dismissed. I stare vacantly into nothingness.
Look, if you don’t know who you are, the door won’t open. Maybe this is not the right time for you. Not to worry, you can go back and think some more. You need more time …
When I hear this, I am terrified. It would be a catastrophe to go back to my repetitive, monotonous, pointless existence of imagining myself to be someone while really being no one. But that is exactly what may happen soon enough, for I begin to feel a kind of backward pull, a force that is sucking me back to where I came from. I resist but the pull is too strong. I resist with all my might.
I am aware that my thinking is muddled, but one thing I know for sure, I don’t want to go back. Not now, not ever. I plead with earnestness, “Please, please, please… give me a little more time.”
Well, then, hurry up. There are others waiting their turn …
Oddly, time seems precious even though I have no idea what time of the day or night it is. I realize it’s either now or not for a long, long time, which feels like never. What if I am not able to come to this place (is this a place?) again?
I dive deep within myself without knowing exactly what I am looking for. Does anything remain after the disappearance of my age, gender, color, race, class, cultural moorings, religious beliefs, my skills and talents and interests, my family and friends? Who am I without reference to any of those things?
As I ponder over this with greater urgency than ever, something clicks. There is a flicker of light deep within me. It is an aha moment. I stumble upon the one thing that identifies me perfectly—my existence. Even though almost everything was stripped away from me when my body and mind—even my world—disappeared, I continue to exist. I exist!
The light within becomes steadier and brighter now. The fog is disappearing. I have begun to see things clearly. Besides my existence, I discover something more—my awareness. I could not have known that I exist unless I was aware of my existence. I am aware!
With existence and awareness as markers of my identity, I am startled to find—how did I miss something that was so obvious?—that I am infinite! I can hardly contain my joy at the discovery that nothing binds me. Nothing limits me anymore. There are no boundaries to my existence and awareness. I am everywhere because there is nowhere to go. I am everyone because no one exists apart from me.
A sound that is not a sound begins to reverberate:
सत्यं ज्ञानं अनन्तं ब्रह्म ।
satyaṁ jñānaṁ anantaṁ brahma.
“Brahman is existence, awareness and infinity” (Taittirīya Upaniṣad, 2.1.3).
The mystery door that blocked my path when I found myself here has miraculously vanished. But it doesn’t surprise me, because I am no longer I.
There is no “door,” there is no “me,” there is no “here,” there is no “there.” Nothing is everything. No one is everyone.
Existence. Awareness. Infinity.