“Sower at Sunset (detail)” by Vincent van Gogh
I’m in a dark tunnel moving towards the light. I’m not walking or flying. It’s more like floating or gliding on a moving sidewalk. No going back. The light burns a thousand times brighter than a thousand suns (that’s bright) yet it doesn’t hurt my eyes. It welcomes me like a campfire on a cold night. Will they have beer there? Or, fridges? I hope so. How about sunscreen? I guess you don’t need it (or sunglasses) when you are dead. The light becomes all-encompassing; a strong feeling of love and camaraderie overwhelms me as I am totally immersed in its/his infinity. Yet, somehow I can’t stop thinking about a cold one. Maybe I’m not ready, or worthy.