"Not so much an afterlife; more an après-vie." - Arthur Dent.
There was a bit in the 'stupid questions' section of The Guardian yesterday asking if anybody had actually been converted by the God-botherers on their doorstep.
Quite a few, it turned out.
Someone raised a good question, however. It seems that in Jehovah's Witness Heaven there are only a finite number of places available; something like 114,000, though that's from memory so correct me if I'm talking out of my arse (again).
It explains why they go away so quickly when you don't answer the door; they don't want to create too much competition for places.
I like the J-Ws; they are always ready for a chat but never come equipped with the answers to any tricky theological questions, just an entertaining array of confused and worried expressions and a sprinkling of risible platitudes. They usually catch me when I'm mowing the front lawn, then they seem rather eager to get away … I can't think why.
The last time I snared them I had just boiled the kettle so I made them tea and we sat around on the lawn and flicked through the Watchtower.
'That looks familiar', I thought … There was a big illustration that had been copied straight from one of Kurt Busiek's Superman graphic novels (yes, I'm that sad); a gap-toothed grinning old Chinaman and a happy white family with a baby. They told me that was what Heaven would be like … Hmmmm …
"So if you die of old age you end up a rickety old guy in Heaven?" I said, pointing to the rickety old guy.
Some amusing confused expressions and murmuring between themselves.
I pointed to the baby.
"And if you die in infancy you're stuck as a baby forever?"
They decided that perhaps you went to Heaven as whatever you wanted.
"So I can look like George Clooney?" (this was a while back) …
After that, they seemed in a hurry to finish their teas.
"Do you actually have copyright on that illustration? That's a Kurt Busiek painting."
And they were off.
Next time they come knocking, go answer the door. It can be a fun way to spend a few minutes. If you smile a lot it really spooks them.
Which brings me round to après-vie, the afterlife.
I'm happy with there being no God and no afterlife. I really don't understand why some people feel the need for such things but I accept that they do (sorry, Robyn, I know we disagree on this one, and you've heard all of this crap before so you can go have a coffee).
I mean, an afterlife?
For ever?
I don't know about you but that little bit of late Sunday afternoon just before teatime bores me to homicidal distraction … Douglas Adams correctly called it "The Long Dark Teatime Of The Soul" … so the prospect of living forever gives me the creeping horrors.
When I die I will be dead.
That's it.
Anything that was me - other than a six foot length of compost - will cease to exist.
A few nice buildings and some music will carry on for a bit, but the person writing this drivel will not.
And that is such a relief.
As for my saggy old body, I had originally planned to leave it to alternative comedy, but apparently that's illegal. It would have been great to have it kicked around a stage or blown up for a laugh, but there you go … the law's an ass but it's still the law.
So wrap my mouldering corpse in a sack and chuck it in a hole.
On unconsecrated ground, please.
With no marker.
It's only bloody compost after all.
17 comments:
I gott aagree with you.
And who the hell wants to be stuck with their family for an eternity? I have enough trouble spending christmas day with them. I'd spend eternity arguing with my mother about why i feel the need to desicrate my hair with a colour other than what i was naturally born with. (and she has SUCH a hide saying that when its loreal who are keeping her locks from greyness these days)
Dead is just dead. Although in America you can will your body to "The Body Farm" and become a research subject which actually sounds way cool and i'd do that given the option.
I can't imagine you mowing your lawn. I need pictures please.
Yikes! Relatives!
And you are naturally pink, Kate; your Mother just stuck you with the wrong hair.
I don't have a photo of me mowing the lawns, so just find some flabby middle-aged guy doing that in your neighbourhood and that's pretty much what I look like.
Yep, you can will your body to science. If I had to spend eternity in this present state with family, it would be more like hell than heaven. But I don't think that's how it is. You don't go there in a pack, you go as an individual without all the crappy flaws and headaches.
Oh, and I think the JW's believe there will be 144,000 seats in heaven, a misinterpretation of a passage in Revelations. I once had to read from Revelation at a funeral, and my neice said, "hey good job on that hocus pocus bit." It's easy to misinterpret the mess.
Thanks for the correction, Robyn.
And if you took away my flaws and headaches there'd be nothing left but a bit of gristle to send to Heaven.
Once I said, "Apocalypse later, eh" to the JWs when they came to my door (they had predicted that the world would end a few years before this exchange).
It was fun.
Oh, and lovely Arthur Dent quote.
Thanks for all the fish.
Apocalypse later.
Hee hee hee hee hee.
Thank you, Sassy. That's made my day.
And talking of Arthur Dent, did anybody in America ever realise how screamingly funny Ford Prefect's name is? I think they only sold them over here.
I agree with you - when you die you're dead. But I don't think about what happens after. What's the point? 1) You won't know what's happening anyway and 2) it isn't like it's going to change what happens once you know so why bother?
Absolutely, Groover.
Actually, not believing in an afterlife is like never having to say you're sorry; just create as much fun and mayhem as you can when you're alive, then die and avoid the consequences.
I kinda like that.
You forgot to mention (probably worth recording here) your wish for Old Les to join you in the hole. If I'm around, I know I'll have a battle of wills with Alifan, but I'm on your side there.
Thanks, Pea. Yes, I'll be taking it with me out of spite.
See you in hell commie boy.
I'll be looking doon from heaven flicking my cigarette ash onto you.
there are rules after my demise: creamation, catapult ashes over the river and then a big party for all attendees...no big deal, but a hellva party :D
there's an old arab saying..something like, "the world ends when i die" i take it to mean it's all over for me , i did my best, so move along there's nothing to see here...
With you in it, Old K, Heaven might be worth a visit.
I like that saying, Savannah.
My world will certainly end when I die. Which means - as far as my consciousness is concerned - everybody else will cease to exist at the same time …
Cool!
I can take everyone with me!
I want one of those green burials.Take me out to a pasture with wrap me in burlap and throw me in. Cover me with earth and let a tree grow above.
I don't know. It just frackin pisses me off that we CAN'T know. I mean, COME ON! I want something better than those drippy books about how some people died and shot through a tunnel until they saw a light and there was their Aunt Tootie and dear old grandpa Billy and a host of other people waiting and smiling. And then, of course, they get jolted back because those people suddenly announce that hey...there was a mistake and you have to go back into your wreck of a body for a bit before you can join the party.
I just think that is so sloppy rude.
And, when I die, I don't care so much if I see my dead relatives, some I like more than others, but jaysus, is it so much to ask that someone with some DETAILS will meet me and tell me where I am supposed to go? Because I can do without all the looney smiles and hugs. Or else, maybe...I dunno...maybe Milton or Mozart or someone cool could be there to give me some hugs.
But, no...you probably have to request them like 30 years in advance and of course, I never think to do that stuff...
You just did, Maria.
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