Well, since I seem to have hurled my verbal vomit yesterday, I find myself oddly quiet today. Life just continues: the kidlets go to school, the dog needs to be walked, the laundry continues to amass.
Maybe this is all there is. Although I still seek the transcendent, still seek to fill my spiritual hunger, I am left with the probability that this life is all we have. That there is no anthropomorphic God who watches over us and that dead is dead. That is the void, and I'm okay with it. Because that means that this life is even more precious, and that the people we love we have to connect to today, because there is no Great Hereafter where we can make up for what we missed here.
Which is really too bad, because I like the idea of an afterlife where I can have dinner with all those people in history that I'd like to meet. Like Amelia Earhart, just to find out what really happened. And Thomas Jefferson, who was really fascinating. And also books--all the books that I never got to read, or that weren't written yet, or that I did read and want to read again. Those should also be in heaven. Plus totally comfortable places to sit so you never get sore. Don't even get me started on the food.
Actually, my ideal heaven would be a lot like those murals on the walls at Barnes and Noble, where all the great authors of all time are sitting at a cafe and talking. Plus me.