Into the Dark...

I'm not afraid of much. Two weeks after I fell off a 63-foot cliff, I was jumping off cliffs again. I threw down with the Lou Ferrigno of spiders in my garage the other day. I once doused a chicken wing with the black hot sauce that you need to sign a waiver for and shoved it in my mouth (I paid dearly for it, but I wasn't afraid). I think my bio on the Epic staff page lists my fears as marionettes and people touching my Adam's apple. Okay, those two are legitimate.

I'm also terrified of death. I know, I know. I'm a Christian, and death has lost its sting, and the same power that conquered the grave lives in me, and Jesus KO'ed death in the 1st round. Still. I say I'm not afraid, and really, most of the time through my actions, I show I'm not afraid. One of my favorite activities in life is to risk death. Don't believe me? Want to know the three words I always text to my wife after one of my "camping" trips?

"I'm still alive."

But when I slow down, and I really think about it, death terrifies me.

It's the unknown. It's when I try to picture the moment my eyes see their last glimpse of the world and slowly shut. It's the moment when we pass from living to dead. What happens? Is there nothing? Is there a light? Will  Joel Osteen be waiting to welcome me? (to hell...?)

Maybe it's because there's always a hint of doubt for me, and I'm not afraid to admit that. I'm terrified that when I die, I will cease to exist, and my mind simply cannot fathom what it is like to suddenly and completely

 

 

 

not exist.