By Gonny 
Christianity speaks of heaven, hell, and sometimes purgatory.
A soul that continues, judged, rewarded, purified.
Buddhism speaks of karma and rebirth, of lives unfolding one after another, shaped by past actions.
Other traditions describe higher realms, astral planes, light bodies, ascension, reincarnation into new dimensions.
The images differ, but the structure is remarkably similar.
There is a “you” who continues. A core identity that survives the body.
A story that moves forward.
And it makes sense that this is comforting. The thought that something of me goes on feels kinder than disappearance. More hopeful and more humane.
But what if we pause for a moment and do something very simple and very radical?
What if we don’t choose between these stories, but instead ask a quieter question:
How do we actually know?
Not: Which story do I prefer or which tradition do I trust? But : can be known directly, without borrowing someone else’s answer?
Let’s look together.
Right now, as you read this, you can notice that thoughts appear.
They come and go. Feelings arise…they change. Sensations shift.
Even your sense of “me” fluctuates throughout the day.
What, then, is it that notices all of this?
Every religion offers an answer, but always in the form of a concept.
A soul….a consciousness that travels….a self that evolves…
But before we accept any of those ideas, we can ask:
Is this “I” that I assume will continue actually stable now?
If we look closely, the identity we usually defend…the name, the history, the personality…is already in constant motion. It changes with age, experience, memory, mood.
So when a tradition says: this is what happens to you after death, we might ask: Which “you” exactly?
The child you once were or the adult you are now…or the self you imagine becoming?
At some point, the idea of continuity begins to wobble.
Not because the traditions are wrong, but because they may be speaking at a level meant to comfort, guide, or structure meaning, not necessarily to describe ultimate truth.
What if awakening is not about finding the correct answer about the afterlife, but about noticing something much closer?
When we stop rehearsing stories about past and future, there is an undeniable presence here…not personal with a name..or moving through time.
It does not announce itself as “I will continue”……..It simply is !
And then the question “What happens to me?” slowly transforms into:
What is this awareness that is present even when the story of me is quiet?
At that point, disappointment can arise, because this does not promise a next level, guarantee a reunion or offer a reward.
It offers something far less dramatic and far more intimate:
It suggests that what we truly are was never born, and therefore does not need to survive. That what appears and disappears was never the essence.
And that the fear of vanishing belongs to the idea of identity, not to awareness itself!
Religions rarely say this outright.
Not because they are dishonest, but because this insight cannot organize a community, enforce morality, or soothe fear in a predictable way.
It removes leverage, hierarchy, and the promise that the “me” will be carried forward.
And yet, when this is seen directly, something unexpected happens.
There is no sense of loss.
What falls away is not life, but the effort of holding an identity together.
What remains is not emptiness, but simplicity.
Life continues. The body continues. Personality continues.
But lightly. Transparently. As expression, not as proof of separation.
So instead of choosing which story about death is correct, we might arrive …together….at a quieter conclusion:
Whatever happens after death does not concern a separate “me”, because that “me” is already a story appearing within something much larger.
And that something larger does not need a future to complete itself.
Perhaps the most honest thing we can say is this: I don’t know what happens after death, but I do notice that what I truly am does not depend on the story of my life…even now.
And maybe that is not a loss at all. Maybe it is the end of a question that never quite fit.
finally silence……and in that silence, something relaxes.
As if nothing was ever really at stake.
With love and light,
G.