Death is Zeno's paradox forever!
Maybe it's obvious, but I just realized it. And no one be worried by a guy's inebriated musings.
The rationale has two points. First, the edge of all things, seen at a close enough scale, is very fuzzy. In fact, it follows a half-life decay. There's no edge to a couch, at the thread level, or the crashing of a teacup into a floor, in microseconds. There is no point at which it "ends". Second, the brain gets four minutes of electrical activity after the rest of the body has shut down. The synapses of your brain keep firing, and your brain keeps thinking.
Think how it would happen. The event happens-- like a heart attack, you feel the impending doom as your body piece-by-piece trips over itself, and you realize what happened, what is happening. There's some pain, but it doesn't take long. And then it stops, except for a dull ache, that you don't realize at first is dull enough to ignore. It's even a little warm and cozy.
You realize, "I'm here, but I'm stuck! I've got to open my eyes and fight back, or at least say my final words. What did I want to say? About love? Oh!" You dash about, straining to move your dead muscles, and eventually resort to just trying to give some sign that you're still here. And eventually you realize that, no, you really are trapped.
The red-hot anger flares up, but soon it's sifted into pure sadness-- or maybe it comes the other way around. Why did it have to happen now, at the height of your life (though you never thought about it that way) with so much left undone? By what idiocy am I here?! I wish I could yell! Or say something. To anyone, or anything. Or that it would at least just end.
Your head slowly starts spinning with the ramifications. This is the eternal end. What was that religion your parents talked about? What if it's all true, even the silly parts. Did it matter now? Maybe, but... is that a light you see? You throw yourself into a religious fervor. Oh, the warmth, just like you heard about! There's the feeling of oneness! Wait-- is that a figure? Is it God? No, it's someone else. Oh, mom, I've wanted to see you so long! And you're not alone: my relatives, past loves, lost friends!!! It's like a dream, and you have long conversations with each one, and try to right some social wrongs and tell them who you were. And something else is with them.
Before you realize that you're just faking it. You're alone, still trapped in your head, with no one but yourself for company. This is as bad as those times you convinced yourself you were floating. You're still here, you're still dead, and time's running out.
You can feel it running out-- you start to lose touch with the whole idea that you were a body to begin with. You realize that even your brain is swiftly dying.
But it's been so long. Or has it just been seconds, since the event? You realize that time and space have no meaning for you, nor anything you could say or do, in this new world around you. It's a world you could make anything inside, and try to stay there until infinity, but it'd be a sham. And nothing would change the fact that you're over.
But these are your last moments! You rally to the call, and began to chant the greatest idea of your being. Maybe your name at first. But what a fool, what a con, what lost possibility. But you know that doesn't matter. What matters is your being-- your very individual-ness, from the big scar to the dopey voice. Being. Being... The word starts to sound forced, as your army of shouters grows thinner. Not being. No, everything is your spirit-- your drive, your passion... whatever that was. You can't really remember, but you know that's not the point. Spirit? Still not right; it's something bigger than you. And it's also the Others, so wonderful. And the world, the universe. Something greater. Really huge. And very orange.
The all is orange-oranging, you slowly realize. And you cast around for the word. How long have you been here?
The orange! No, the word. The word? The what?
That... (and you know it)
You reach into eternity.