Sometimes, in the cold darkness of winter particularly, I can’t help but think about how it’s all going to end.  It’s incredibly depressing to contemplate one’s own mortality; Even plastic breaks down over time.  I guess the fear of irrefutable extinction is what drives people to religion.  The hope for a beautiful afterlife must be a wonderful pacifier.  But what if the after-life isn’t so beautiful, what if it’s terrible, tortuous.  If I were to accept the premise that there truly is an afterlife how could I be certain I was headed in the preferred direction?  When I think about it, throughout history there are more depictions of Hell than of Paradise.

I read somewhere that one is born of nature and to nature one returns after death; seems sufficient to me.