Što se dogodi kada umremo I What Happens When We Die

what-happens-when-we-die

Bio si na putu kući kad si umro.

To se desilo u automobilskoj nesreći. Nikakva posebna nesreća, ali ipak smrtonosna. Iza sebe si ostavio suprugu i dvoje djece. To je bila bezbolna smrt. Hitna pomoć je dala sve od sebe da te spasi, ali bez uspjeha. Tvoje tijelo je bilo tako skršeno da je bolje što si umro, vjeruj mi.

I tada si me upoznao.

“Što … što se dogodilo? “Pitao si me.” Gdje sam ja?”

“Ti si umro,” rekao sam, činjenično odsutno. Nema smisla uljepšavati riječi.

“Bio je kamion… koji je proklizavao…”

“Jeste.” rekao sam.“

“I. .. ja sam umro?”

“Jesi. Ali nemoj se osjećati loše zbog toga. Svi umiru.” rekao sam.

Osvrnuo si se. Oko tebe nije bilo ničega. Samo ti i ja. “Kakvo je ovo mjesto?” pitao si me. “Je li to život poslije smrti?”

“Više ili manje”, rekao sam.

“Jesi li ti Bog?” pitao si me.

“Jesam.” Odgovorio sam. “Ja sam Bog.”

“Moja djeca … Moja žena,” rekao si.

“Što je s njima?”

“Hoće li biti u redu?”

“To je ono što volim vidjeti,” rekao sam. “Samo što si umro, a glavna briga ti je tvoja porodica. To je lijepo.”

Pogledao si me fascinirano. U tvojim očima nisam ti izgledao kao Bog. Izgledao sam kao neki obični čovjek. Neki nejasni autoritet. Više nekako kao gimnazijski profesor od Svemogućeg.

“Ne brini”, rekao sam. “Oni će biti u redu. Tvoja djeca će te se sjećati kao savršenog roditelja u svakom pogledu. Nisu imali vremena da osjete prezir prema tebi. Tvoja supruga će zaplakati, ali će potajno osjetiti olakšanje. Budimo iskreni, tvoj brak se raspadao. Ako ti je za utjehu, ona će osjećati veliku krivicu zbog tog osjećaja olakšanja.”

“O”, rekao si. “Pa što će se sada dogoditi ? Moram otići u raj ili pakao ili tako nešto?”

“Nijedno”, rekao sam. “Vrati ćeš se, roditi ponovno. “Prošetaj sa mnom.”

Pratio si me u stopu dok smo šetali u prazninu. “Gdje idemo?”

“Nigdje posebno,” rekao sam. “Samo je lijepo hodati dok razgovaramo.”

“U čemu je onda poanta?” Pitao si me. “Kad se ponovo rodim biću samo prazna ploča, zar ne? Beba. Znači, sva moja iskustva i sve što sam učinio u ovom životu neće biti važno?”

“Ne baš!” Rekao sam. “Ti u sebi imaš sve znanje i iskustva svih svojih prošlih života. Ti ih se samo ne sjećaš u ovom trenutku.”

Zaustavio sam se i uhvatio te za ramena. “Tvoja duša je veličanstvenija, ljepša i veća nego što uopće možeš zamisliti. Ljudski um može sadržavati samo jedan maleni dio onoga što jesi. To je kao da staviš prst u čašu vode da vidiš da li je vruća ili hladna. Stavi mali dio sebe u tu posudu, i čim ga izvadiš van, stekao si sva iskustva koja je imao.”

“Bio si čovjek posljednje 34 godine, pa se još uvijek nisi ispružio i osjetio ostatak svoje ogromne svijesti. Ako bismo duže ostali na ovom mjestu počeo bi se prisjećati svega. Ali, nema smisla to raditi između svakog života.”

“Koliko puta sam se onda reinkarnirao?”

“O, mnogo. Jako mnogo. i u mnogo različitih života.” rekao sam. “Ovaj put ćeš biti kineska seljanka iz 540 godine nove ere. ”

“Čekaj malo?” zamucao si. “Vraćaš me natrag kroz vrijeme?”

“Pa, tehnički gledano da. Vrijeme, kakvo vi poznajete postoji samo u vašem svemiru. Stvari su drugačije tamo odakle ja dolazim.”

“Odakle si ti?” izgledao si zamišljeno.

“Oh, da!” objasnio sam ti, “Dolazim odnekud. Iz nekog drugog mjesta. I tamo postoje drugi poput mene. Znam da želiš saznati kako je tamo, ali iskreno nisi u stanju da to razumiješ.”

“Oh.” Rekao si, malo razočarano. “Ali čekaj, ako me reinkarniraš na druga mjesta kroz vrijeme, da li bih u nekom trenutku mogao komunicirao sam sa sobom?”

“Naravno. To se stalno događa. A kako su dva života svjesna samo pojedinačnog postojanja, nisi ni svjestan čak da se to događa.”

“U čemu je onda svrha svega toga?”

“Ozbiljno?” Pitao sam. “Ozbiljno? Pitaš me za smisao života? Nije li to malo stereotipno?”

“Pa, to je razumno pitanje.” Bio si uporan.

Pogledao sam te u oči. “Smisao života, razlog zbog kojeg sam napravio ovaj cijeli svemir, je da ti sazriješ.”

“Misliš čovječanstvo? Želiš da sazrijemo?”

“Ne. Samo ti. Napravio sam cijeli ovaj svemir za tebe. Sa svakim novim životom ti rasteš i sazrijevaš i postaješ veći i veličanstveniji um.”

“Samo ja? Šta je sa svima ostalima?”

“Ne postoji niko drugi”, rekao sam. “U ovom svemiru , postojiš samo ti i ja.”

Gledao si me tupo. “Ali svi ljudi na Zemlji …”

“Svi su ti. Različite inkarnacije tebe.”

“Čekaj. Ja sam svi!?”

“Sad shvaćaš.” Rekao sam, lupivši te po leđima da ti čestitam.

“Ja sam svaki čovjek koji je ikada živio?”

“Ili koji će ikada živjeti, da.”

“Ja sam svi?”

“Ti si svi.” Dodao sam.

“Ja sam i Hitler?” Rekao si, zaprepašteno.

“I ti si milioni ubijenih.”

“Ja sam Isus?”

“I svi koji su ga slijedili.”

Zašutio si.

“Svaki put kad nekoga učiniš žrtvom,” rekao sam, “sam sebe činiš žrtvom. Svako djelo ljubaznosti koje si uradio, uradio si sebi. Svaki sretan i tužan trenutak koji je doživio bilo koji čovjek jeste ili će biti doživljen kroz tebe.”

“Zašto?” Pitao si me. “Čemu sve ovo?”

“Zato što ćeš jednog dana postati poput mene. Jer je to ono što vi jeste. Ti si jedan od pripadnika moje vrste. Ti si moje dijete.”

“Opa”. Rekao si u nevjerici . “Hoćeš da kažeš da sam bog?”

“Ne. Ne još. Ti si fetus koji još uvijek raste. Nakon što proživiš svaki ljudski život kroz sve vrijeme, dovoljno ćeš narasli da se rodiš.”

“Znači, cijeli svemir,” rekao si. “To je samo … ”

“Nekakva vrsta jajeta.” Odgovorio sam. “Sada je vrijeme da kreneš u svoj sljedeći život.”

I ja sam te poslao na put.

Autor : Andy Weir


WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE DIE?

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a  wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god? You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. 

“Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.”

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone
else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way. 

Author – Andy Weir

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