I’ve never been afraid of dying. I’ve always been OK with the idea that my Self could be over when my
body gives up. We are such an infinitesimal part of the universe, so limited by our human boundaries. But there have been moments when I’ve had a perception of a hidden reality, and those moments made me who I am today, a believer in the afterlife.
I’m not ashamed of linking my faith with this vague perception of another dimension, because if Jesus is alive, as I feel he is, he inhabits a dimension that is not our own. I also have a feeling that my father, who passed away a few years ago, is still there for me, watching me from another world. He felt deeply his role of parent, not as one who must function as a teacher of morals, but as one who is responsible for the well being of his children. His tendency to rule our lives, at least from a practical point of view, could become really overwhelming. I suspect that he would have a hard time leaving us on our own, even now that he’s not among us anymore. I bet he wouldn’t rest in peace until he knew that we were safe. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching over me, trying to put me on the right track.