Am I a vehicle of consciousness, or am I consciousness? Am I so attached to my body, this life and its temporal and tactile nature that I should perish with it?
That's kind of a ridiculous question, I think. I'm never quite sure what people are looking for when they seek some notion or another of eternal life. I suppose the question for me is whether or not there is some way for me to steer some path between pure oblivion, whatever that is, and becoming pure undifferentiated consciousness, which is probably difficult to distinguish from the former, actually. This is purely academic, since it's one circumstance we all share and it's rather unavoidable. But is there a proper way to discipline my mind, such that there is some recognizable me in the All afterward? Is that even the point?
I think that's what the aim of the preachers was, in some sense. They promised me some romanticized notion of a my current life, only never-ending and somehow dramatically ennobled, such that I'm, well, finally the guy my dog always thought I was, for real. But it's me just the same. This late in life, somehow, I don't buy that. I don't think any of us get out that easily with our consciousness intact. Perhaps we do, only purged of our fears and attachments; but then, isn't that what differentiates us in the first place? Isn't that what it means?
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