Fred, Ted, Dread, and Dead in Bed; Scenes from the Journey, vol. 23, no. 5

Fred, Ted, Dread, and Dead in Bed

To dread is human.

If that's what you believe, please keep your dread to a dull roar so the rest of us can hear Life's carnival cacophony.

I've been contemplating the dread of death in a new way lately. No longer insouciant in willful blindness, I've been staring it in the eye, making myself look at the uncertainty. Well, actually, the certainty.

We humans love the sure thing, love knowing what will be. So you'd think the certainty that none of us will get out of this alive would be right up our alley. The problem is that we can't help focusing on what comes after that certain thing. When we come up against the ultimate unknowable, it's easy to see why we create imagined certitudes: heaven, hell, a tunnel filled with demons that tempt and lights that deceive, loved ones open-armed on the other side of the void, and so forth.

We create our feeble fantasies to ward off the dread. So here's everything I know for sure about this topic (I dread telling you): nothing.

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