Here I lie on my bed, helplessly hoping and holding onto the familiar faces of my love ones who surround me with their warmth. I wished I could fly right now. After hours of fighting the cold grip of Death’s welcoming arms by listening to all the recollections of my life’s symphony in the carefully picked playlist which contains the music from each and every point of my adventure on this planet earth, now I am ready to go. The cloud soft pillow and blanket comforts my decaying body which is now powerless to produce energy for further continuation of existence. I feel like I’m on a wooden ship on the sea of free and easy as my requested songs by Nash, Crosby Stills and Young echoed the weary chamber of my death, like a stage for the final minutes of my life’s play. My family and my true friends whom are fixed onto every last minuscule actions and words which slithers outs of my lips like an unwilling snake forced out of my depleting chest of my soul. We are stardust whispered my consciousness.
These words drag my attention to my early memories of my youth. When I was nothing more than a young innocent and curious little mind that constantly biting and tasting any elements of life’s experience despite the endless warnings from my elders on its harsh and the painful scars it leaves behind on my tender lips. From a toddler eating a worm to a young teenager kissing the cold lips of heartbreak. I preferred the worm. The memories of my arms from the early days of my tiny fingers feeling the heat of fire and holding my mother’s warm breast to having dry paints or pencil smudges as my hands creates expressionistic abstract forms of knowledgeable artworks. My ears that has listened to the guiding commands of my superior which soon found comforts to listening the true voices that sings the anguish and struggles of a generation which I could relate and hear my own voice in their rhythm. My eyes that have delighted itself with the colorful and imaginative substances of entertaining cartoons to the loud and naked skins of reality and the true colors of our tears all the way up to the enlightening sights of a separating perspective of our nature. The paradigm shift in my sights experiences undoubtly impacted my mind which was enjoying the comfort and worriless made up world that now seems like an invisible prison of my mind.
The memoires of my mouth that first utter the acknowledgement and love for my parents on my toothless baby lips to the cursing and weeping lost of a sweeter lips to kiss which have left my mouth speechless for a certain period of my life which in turn allows my ears and eyes to fully study and understand my existence a little better than before. With this new frightening reality my lips changes the content of its speech from useless excuses for my petty mistakes to shouting the truth and hope for my sleeping generation. My lips pray that these words of scientific understanding with the enlightening spiritual awakening could make a different to my society and be lost in the drowning thoughts of deceit such as the fate of my previous generations. My lips dreams that it could kiss once again an angel for my hearts and teach the proper guidance for my future son and daughter. My lip wishes to kiss again. To kiss my lovely wife, to kiss my daughter's warm cheeks and to kiss my unwilling grandsons who would find my lips old and wrinkly.
Oh how these memories are so vivid but yet vague in my mind right now. They seem like the past but yet the future. What is time but an illusion of my mind. What is time but a Planck in the entropy nature of the expanding universe. Oh how my old dying mind is so drifted and high not from the phony medicine that the pharmaceutical companies trying to feed me but rather the preferable naturally from mother earth, Gaia's great skins of the cannabis leave. Yes, my final moment with my family and my final hours of my existence on this planet is filled with the THC potent smokes. Far Far more relaxing and worth it way to die. Yes this is the death of a psychedelic hippie grandpa, the death of a rebelling Rastafarian, the death of a tired but still hungry for knowledge curious little scientist, the death of a suicidal love-obsessed poet, the death of an ever-changing painting, the death of a song, the death of a simple man. This is the death of me.
I could hear it now, the final strummming of the guitar of my life as the song 'Find the Cost of Freedom' by Nash, Crosby, Stills & Young echoes behind the shadows of my relatives. Find the Cost of Freedom buried in the Ground. Oh the welcoming whisper of the sweet lips of the reaper telling the last few breath of my heart that the true ending of my journey and the true cost of my soul's freedom lies in the very soil of my mother earth that gave birth to me. Mother Earth will swallow you, Lay your body down. The chants that sings the final resting bed for my body. From Gaia the elements of my existence come from and to it my body shall returned. There is no use to resist and fight anymore, lay and rest my body to its true origin. Gaia. My mother, my creator, my lover. And as my final breath slips from my mouth, I whispered: Love.
My heart stops to bet as the blood in my body began to lose it warmth of energy. From the outer layer of my skins down through the inner organs. The coldness crawls like a swarm of ants attacking a honey spill. My heart slowly but surely loses it warmths as the final blood cells circulates into its stationery valves. I start to lose functions of every single cell of my body. The final sparks of energies lies in the thick skull of my head. Slowly losing my hearing like a song being drag to the far distant, my sight losing the energy of my eye's light receptors. My last view on this earth was the scene of my bed being suck into a void of darkness as the curtains falls. The last little energy left was in my brain final sparking neurons. This is the moment that Timothy Leary was looking forward for.
The final 7 minutes of brain activity after the whole body shuts down. The moment where every sensory organs are no longer primary. The moment where your sight and hearing is only with your mind's memory. In almost every culture on this planet often stated that life after death you will re-live your entire live like walking in a scripted film where you can’t change any regrettable actions that you had done. The moment where 'your entire life flashes right in front of your eyes'. However you perceive this holy moment or describe it in mere words, this final 7 minutes of brain activity of recapping your memories is your entire life. This is your heaven or hell. If you live a life of regret this moment would be hell. If you are content with the decisions made then this is your heaven.
You are that old man looking back at your life. Even now. Everything you see right now is in those final minutes. As the final spark of neuron in your mind extinguish, you will realize that you are nothing more than that tiny spark in your brain. This is nothing more than a tiny spark in the huge statistics of human civilization’s history. This in turn is nothing more than a momentary spark in the time of the planet’s history. Curiously enough, Gaia is also nothing more than a spark of chemical reaction in the solar system and that our sun is nothing more than a spark of corresponding gases in the vast galaxy. As far as we know our galaxy is also just another spark in the universe, and who knows our universe might be nothing more than a spark of probability on the vibration of string elements of the quantum atomic structures in another multiversity complex. And this list is just another small fraction in the dimensions that is yet uncovered. No matter how small and tiny or insignificant our spark is in the universe, it is still better to have been a spark of life than being a part of the none existence. Trust me I should know.
This is death. To return to the source and the elements of the universe. This is how I died. With my final sparks diminishing I think to myself the last phrase I could ever conjure up: ONE LOVE.
The scientists had just discovered this recently :
Something that I was talking about in this little blog post on the Death Experience of the Consciousness in the persona of a Hippie and his passion towards the artistic values of symphony's arrangements in music. With speculations on the dying process of the last sparking neurons and with the new discovery, you can say that my little theory was hit the spot. Hippie prediction :D