Impromptu

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What if there’s nothing after life? Nothing but a big, dreamless sleep?

Hope always has a darker side. It makes us chase for illusions and postpone our gestures of love. If we knew for sure that “now” is all we got, we’d squeeze good things from the moment, say what we have to say, do what we have to do, never let anything to be said and done some other time in the future, and therefore we’d have no regrets to cry on, when the time comes for us or for our dear ones to leave.

If we were sure that “tomorrow” might simply not become “today”, we’d make sure that today we give the best of us, especially when it comes to how we want to be remembered, knowing that this memory (and not some post-mortem redeeming gathering) is all that will be left from us.

I’m sad for me to acknowledge this, but they were somehow right when they said that religion is the opium of the people. People always misinterpret faith as a possibility of repairing what they did wrong, of telling what they always silenced, of succeeding where they always failed. Some dream of eternal life, some others – of future lives, put their hopes upon these never proven things and allow themselves to make mistakes, to hide their feelings, to miss their points, for short: to be selfish and vanity oriented. They think there will be better tomorrow, a year from now, a life from now. They beautifully lie themselves. And this misinterpretation is the opium that distracts people from the right and only way.

If there’s a God, I know that every one of Its prophets preached love, and I’m sure they meant: love now, do not postpone. So what’s so difficult in understanding this, and applying this right here, right now? People prepare themselves for something that “will” (improbable) “come”, instead of simply already be prepared. To smile. To comfort. To declare. To act. To simply practice love. Therefore, when we take a loved one to the grave, we could part in peace, with dignity, finding comfort in this only certitude: that we did every single moment everything we could, and the one who died knew and felt our love.

Live constantly with love and share yourself around. It’s the only way you won’t have regrets when they leave, when you leave.
If there’s an afterlife with God, the only state that could make you compatible with is also love.
If there’s only a big, endless, dreamless sleep, at least you lived and died at your fullest, at your best, with dignity.
So your memory will last and will be comforting to the ones you lived with and left behind, extending you as love, in their hearts, for some more time.

Do not postpone. The only thing that can make you last is not your beauty, not your wealth, not your success, not your riots. But your LOVE. With love, there’s no crying, no regret, no anger, no pressure, no stupidity, no uselessness.

With love, death is only a passage. Where to? It simply doesn’t matter.