When I was a member of an organized religion, I spent a lot of time thinking about my mortality. I worried, with many other men in my, let’s call it a cult, that I would not please my cult leaders and thus my God, and lose my reward in the celestial world everyone else had their eyes on. I worked diligently to please those around me and do right by the non-believers with whom I associated with. Being constantly told that I was not doing enough, I strove to do more. But there was only so much a guy could do before it became necessary to pop prescribed pills. Things had to go pretty far south before the prescription was pushed across the doctors desk, but things did.
I left that cult cold-turkey style, and did the same with the pills. I no longer worried about my mortality, I no longer cared. I didn’t care about an afterlife, I didn’t care about a reward. I figured if there was a god and he was so bent on making people miserable while they drew breath on his planet then I didn’t want anything to do with him.
I’m still not sure if there is a god, but I have grown to understand what a bad rap mankind has given him, if he is there. God got a bad rap. I think any normal, non-narcissistic, even keeled god would just want us to enjoy our lives and be kind to each other. He probably wouldn’t dangle carrots promising riches in heaven, or mansions for giving to your favorite television preacher, or seventy-two virgins for killing a bunch of infidels.
I figure I’ll just end up where I end up after death catches me. I’m not going to stress about it. I already did that. For way too long.