It was the salmon mousse

Disclaimer: As I write most of this (everything apart from the first couple of sentences) I am both sick and slightly drunk. Initially I was just sick, but I have found that eating little, staying in bed all day, and then drinking half a bottle of red wine results in inebriation. Who would have thought? Anyway, my point is – this may ramble a bit and lack total comprehension in some parts.

I've been thinking about death lately, a cheery subject I know. I haven't been thinking about my own mortality as such, but more about what I actually believe happens after the big D strikes.

Being agnostic, I have no real concept of ‘life after death’ to believe in. In fact, when I think about the possibility of an afterlife the logical part of my mind goes into hysterical laughter (it may be logical, but is also a little maniacal).
Deep down, I feel that I can’t believe in a heaven or whatever else might be out there. But I want to.

I have had two people very close to me die in the last 15 months, and I feel I need to believe that something else has happened to them. I am not so concerned about there being nothing out there for myself, but for those I love; I want to believe they are in some way watching us. I realise that this need for an afterlife is one of the bases for religion. Unfortunately I am unable to accept many of the ideals of Christianity and Judaism, and to be honest I haven’t looked too much into other established religions, but I’m pretty sure they are not for me.

So I face a bit of a conundrum; the struggle between what I want to believe and that which I can believe.

Despite my logical view on such matters, sometimes one will experience moments in life where you think ‘there has to be more then what science has to offer’. Sometimes I will look at a piece of art and be almost reduced to tears. These works are often of a religious nature, where the artist has believed so deeply in something that it emanates through their art. Michelangelo’s Pieta is one of the most beautiful sculptures ever produced. It’s not just the craftsmanship or material, but the essence of the work that captures the viewer. And then there is nature’s own beauty that looks as if it has been executed by the hand of a master.

But I am going of the topic. What I am really trying to say is that life itself is filled with such wondrous things, how can it suddenly end for a person?
And yet I know it must, but somehow, I don’t want it to.