As a person who’s prone to introspection, I spend a considerable amount of time pondering Big Existential Questions™️ already. I can’t help it. They take a hold of me and squeeze. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, with a part of me like a plane with wheels spinning. Then spinning faster and faster on a runaway headed for the sky, soaring into questions with answers I’ll more than likely only graze, but not find, never fully know.
Still, it’s more about the trip than the destination. It’s about how I learn to make sense of the world around me by being inquisitive (sometimes too much for my own good). The way I can broach or breach my beliefs, too, shaking them to the core when I’m faced with something I can’t quite reconcile and being okay with that. Being open to changing my mind.
The point is I’m unabashedly curious to try and puzzle out my feelings. I like to pick apart some of life’s unknowns, its little mysteries, the myriad of things which either connect or disconnect from human universality and subjective experience, so thinking about life (what it all means) and about death (plus everything that may or may not come after it) allows me to do that. This book, as it happens, encourages you to think about those things from the first to the last page.
It’s questions like these firing in the back of your mind that keep you reading:
What happens after we die? Where do we go? If we’re the ones left behind, how do we cope? Does reincarnation exist? Are we all here for a reason, to learn some kind of a lesson; and if we are, what is it? Why?
How about psychic mediums? Heaven? Hell? Spiritual “energies” or different dimensions? Can loved ones who have passed on truly still see and hear us? What messages, if any, are they trying to convey? Is there a secret to being able to live more in the present? What is the point of this existence? Why are we here?
Like the author, Claire Bidwell-Smith, I ask myself these questions a lot too. With death and disease becoming more prominent figures in my life these past five years especially, stealing away bodily autonomy as well as mortality from numerous members of my family, I’ve been asking them a lot more lately. How do I feel about death? Those I’ve lost? What do I think happens after this?
It’s almost a default setting for me—to wonder. To analyze. To see if I can’t find a way to de-blur some of the lines that exist between fact and faith, between science and spirituality, in my own life.
I’m not afraid to think about death. To talk about it either. I like ruminating over how it may, or has, affected me. It’s quite cathartic and freeing, actually.
That’s one of my biggest takeaways from reading, I think, that so many people are terrified to truly discuss death in general but they shouldn’t be. There’s nothing morbid in musing or commiserating over something that’s universal.
Share your thoughts. Share what it means to love, to grieve. Don’t be afraid to connect to something which will touch us all in the end.
This book is a balm for loss, for those who are bereft or are missing loved ones who have left them. However, it’s also a book about journeying and jockeying for awareness about one’s own beliefs. As a reader, it encourages you to not only identify and consider what you think about death, about the afterlife, but to confront it with a renewed perspective. An open mind. Much like Bidwell-Smith did.
In essence, I like that this book occupies both a consoling and a contemplative niche. It’s unique in that respect, and I appreciate the duality.
Existentially stirring, this one, and surprisingly emotional in places. Definitely worth a read if you’re at all a ponderer like me. :)