Make a Plan

So...Yeah it has been ages since I have posted. It has been so long since the last update beloved Senator Ted Stevens of a series of tubes fame has passed away. Died in a plane crash. You have to figure that has to be a shitty way to go.

To put things in perspective, it has been months since the late senator's passing and I didn't even write about it then. Oh well, not much I can do about that now but recounting his death today gives me pause to consider something about my own mortality.

From the department of way out there, for some reason I have been thinking about my own existence. For some reason I have begun to wonder if I am in fact dead and I don't actually know it.

Some people that believe in ghosts believe that ghosts are the incarnation of spirits that do not realize that they have in fact died or even further, refused to accept death's call at the moment it arrived. In the last few weeks I have reflected on events that have transpired in my life, events that could have possibly lead to my demise.

If ghosts do exist do these spirits who have refused to accept death merely carry on their 'lives' with the perception that their new reality feels no different to them then how the rest of their lives would have been? Do they continue on as if they never died? Perhaps the perceptions of their life continue to progress as though they had not in fact died.

I am not one to ever say that I have lived the life of a daredevil but I can recall a events in my life which could have actually resulted in my own death. It could be the case that I am in fact dead but because I have not accepted it my 'life' has continued on and I have merely perceived my experiences as real and true.

When I was a child I became gravely ill to the point of hospitalization. To this day I don't know the cause of my illness nor what my illness in fact was. The only thing I can recall are the images of men in white coats coming into a room and administering shots. Shots I did not like. The image of men in white coats had me so terrified that when my own father entered the room in a white coat I was convinced that he was intent on hurting me like so many of the other men in white coats had done with their syringes and hypodermic needles. Perhaps I succumbed to my illness as a small child but I refused to accept death.

Once I was riding my bike when I was a teenager and I had an extremely close encounter with a car that to this day I feel was trying to run me off the road. With the car baring down on me I swerved out of the way just in time. Once I had passed the car I turned my head in an attempt to look back at the car that had nearly hit me. In the next split second I turned my head and saw that I myself had swerved into the oncoming traffic lane and I was headed on a collision course with a white pick up truck . To this day I have no idea how I did not end up getting hit by that truck. Is it possible that I did not completely escape the path of impending doom and I actually got killed in a terrible accident?

By the time I got into high school my brothers both became fascinated by guns. Overtime their collection of guns grew. One gun would not suffice and satisfy their interest. Two 9mm pistols, a .357 magnum, two .223 caliber assault rifles, two .762 assault rifles, a 9mm sub-compact machine gun, the list goes on and on. One day my brother along with a friend of mine and myself where in the basement of our house handling the guns. At one point my friend pointed a 10mm Smith and Wesson double action semi-automatic handgun directly at me with the hammer cocked back. For some reason he lifted the gun and pointed the gun towards the ceiling as he slowing guided the hammer back up with his thumb. For some reason the gun discharged and a round was spent into the ceiling and I dropped to the floor as if I had been trained to 'hit the deck' like in a movie. Did he really point the gun towards the ceiling or did the gun fire, striking me in the chest causing me to be a victim of an accidental homicide?

How do I know that I am alive? Anyone out there that might read this may simply think that they could submit a comment to this blog as proof that I am in fact alive. However, how would I know that that comment is nothing more than a figment of my imagination created by the subconscious of my spirit. A spirit that refuses to accept the possibility of the end of my physical existence.

Epistemology is kicking my ass right now. How do I know what I know?

Die and Let Live,
42

In no chronological order