We live in the afterlife. We just don’t know it yet.
In the past life, I might have been a mighty general, famous author, murderer, hero, king, savior—who knows? Different worlds, different customs, but never a different time. Perhaps an alternate reality. Perhaps just another point in the great multiversal cycle.
Yes, Earth is the afterlife.
Here, most people live mundane lives, thinking this is all there is. They wake, work, eat, sleep, love, suffer, and repeat. A slow, creeping eternity of routines, convinced it’s all leading somewhere. Some claim to be special, but in the end, they live and die just as unremarkable as the rest. And then, maybe, they come back again.
Some become monsters—perhaps reflecting who they were before. They rise, grasp power, indulge in excess, and then fall, as karma comes to collect its due. Others suffer early, burdened with unseen weights, enduring in ways that feel all too familiar. Maybe they’ve done this before. Maybe they’ve always been like this. But then, somewhere along the line, something changes. Endurance gives way to happiness, as if the suffering was a toll for joy.
I wonder where I stand.
Am I paying my dues, or am I cashing in? Is this my trial or my reward? I can’t tell anymore. Maybe I never could. Maybe that’s part of it—forgetting, so we play the game like it’s new.
But if this is the afterlife, does that mean I’ve already died? And if I’ve already died, then who was I before?
In the past life, I might have been a mighty general, famous author, murderer, hero, king, savior—who knows? Different worlds, different customs, but never a different time. Perhaps an alternate reality. Perhaps just another point in the great multiversal cycle.
Yes, Earth is the afterlife.
Here, most people live mundane lives, thinking this is all there is. They wake, work, eat, sleep, love, suffer, and repeat. A slow, creeping eternity of routines, convinced it’s all leading somewhere. Some claim to be special, but in the end, they live and die just as unremarkable as the rest. And then, maybe, they come back again.
Some become monsters—perhaps reflecting who they were before. They rise, grasp power, indulge in excess, and then fall, as karma comes to collect its due. Others suffer early, burdened with unseen weights, enduring in ways that feel all too familiar. Maybe they’ve done this before. Maybe they’ve always been like this. But then, somewhere along the line, something changes. Endurance gives way to happiness, as if the suffering was a toll for joy.
I wonder where I stand.
Am I paying my dues, or am I cashing in? Is this my trial or my reward? I can’t tell anymore. Maybe I never could. Maybe that’s part of it—forgetting, so we play the game like it’s new.
But if this is the afterlife, does that mean I’ve already died? And if I’ve already died, then who was I before?