My friend
where I am going
you cannot enter
yet you've given me
everything I've ever
needed for my journey Amen.

A differential equation really tells me that reality can be examined by as many factors with as many changes over as many dimensions as imaginable.
And that orthogonality, tangency, surface area, and volume are basic orienting points, along with rates of change, and that I can transfer this data into a set that is much like a map.
However, it tells me only of concept and not the world, or only basic geometry of the world.
It tells me a lot about space and the symbols and numbers that represent such concepts.
Yet language tells me of my mind, and this math only points out that any change, volume, space, or objects in a dream can be seen with numbers and symbols - that spaces can be exact.
Which may say something about the future, but it can never tell me of the afterlife.
And that spirit/soul even in my materialistic theory means very little when confronted with a new universe.
If I go to another universe, universe B, from this universe A, then even with the transposing of *** and evil into companionship and innocence, in my understanding, these two changes would make the rest of the universe differ greatly.
Thus, the thought of the afterlife will always empty my mind of this universe, leaving me with no real full knowledge of life as I have yet to even use my senses in the next one.
I then always return humble while the atheist considers this universe to be eternal already, without prediction to experience anything greater than its synchronicities.
I have to give them a hand as I imagine this universe overfills them and are forced to deny the spirit rising beyond our cosmos, but rather affirm the spirit that is the totality of this one.
It sets no stage for memories, unfinished karmas, or meeting with the peoples of history.
Therefore, it places a great significance on today, a great significance on love that exists now, and a great significance on the works our forefathers left us.
I would say that this is superior for creating a sense of progress, a sentimentality for others, and a need to experience an openness with all this universe.
Above all else to check off everything on my bucket list.

what's next? you ask,
wondering what will happen
when this life ends

for me it's quite simpel
your faith have the power
to bring imagination to existence

and your images of heaven and hell
of paradise, reincarnation and afterlife
they are all true and untrue

and you see that religion is a question
without a false answer
a struggle without defeat

life is the most beloved creation by existence itself
you can decide how to spend the afterlife
as the end is just a new beginning

Soo ... what's next?

Within the blinking of an eye
we live our lives and then we die
with no time left to ponder why
A baby's breath, a tired sigh

We look back on how much we've grown
the loves we had, the threads we've sown
to find ourselves here all alone
with weary heads and hearts of stone

Fighting just to say goodbye
and when we do begin to cry
we sing ourselves a lullaby
and finally we shut our eyes

What if, beyond the great unknown of death,
there is nothing
but fragments of memories
flickering into place
like a flame just ignited,
memories of all the good times,
all the first kisses
and starry nights,
family gatherings
and the wind dancing through autumn leaves,
all the moments that filled your heart,
and all of those that shattered it just the same,
all the stupid fights
and good jokes
and fruitful meals,
all the common day sights
reframed in to odd familiar beauty
when juxtaposed against an eternal scarcity,
all the long drives,
anxious waits,
and books you never quite did get around to reading,
all the long nights
and early mornings,
all the conversations you'll never forget,
and all the passing words you wish you hadn't,
to each season of your life,
each phase, each desire, every dream,
all the people that molded you,
even the ones that linger in foggy memories now,
what if, when the heart is weak and the body
begins to wither,
when your bones succumb to
to the gravity of existence,
what if this is all there is,
blurring in some melancholic haze,
forever reverberating
against the weightless expanse
of the void always yearning?