Hell

Now, the other half of the equation.

When I was younger I thought that in its own way this life was pretty close to heaven. Not only could you pick what you wanted to do, anything from being a professional golfer to an interim file clerk, but the world was full of people who kept me entertained. I loved the thought of all the possibilities stretching out before me, the endless opportunities, and all that rot. I'm sure they're still there, but I no longer feel that way. Things now feel more proscribed, narrower.

I suppose any being superior enough to create the universe could dash off a lake of fire in a minute. Were he as powerful as claimed, he could also easily stick me in it. Without so much as a second thought, I could be there forever. I'm certain I'd dislike that, or any of the other hells I've read about from Dante to Rod Serling.

While I could be thrust into hell and forced to reflect on my sins and transgressions for eternity, I'm not sure I'd have much respect for whomever put me there.

I'm sorry. I was doing fine on my own before I was born, something that wasn't my choice, I might add. You summoned me into existence for a scant seventy years and then decided to torment me for eternity because I didn't worship you? That, to me, smacks of insecurity on a level I can't imagine (and I'm one of the more insecure people on this planet).

The physical hells, the burning and brimstone shit, seems to me pretty trite and unimaginitive. The more psychological tortures, the getting whatever you want, the frustration of rolling huge boulders wearing hair shirts, would be far more painful and humbling for me. Actually, this life which seemed so heavenly when I was young feels somewhat hellish now on occasion. I'm required to do things I don't care for over and over, I get glimpses of things I can't have, and the worst thing is this is the life I've picked for myself.

I know. I talk a lot about unfullfilled desires. I rarely mention the things I acquire, my little successes or accomplishments, which are every bit as meaningful. Sometimes I can sit and reflect on how lucky I am and other times I compare them to my wants and wonder why past wants came out better than my current ones.

All in all, I think too much. A form of hell built just for me could be just like this: I'm obsessed and precoccupied with figuring something out that exists solely for pleasure and has no deep, dark meaning.