An Absurd (And Absurdly Literal) Interpretation of the Great Beyond

He gazed out from behind his coal black eyes at the mountain. It stood there, freshly blanketed with the snow that was both the beauty and the essence of life for him. Staring at this holy place he could not help but think of his cosmic insignificance. The permanence, the ancientness of the mountain in comparison to his transient existence did not fill him with dread though. Instead, he found hope in that permanence, confidence in that ancient and everlasting presence. A sensation of familiarity arose in him as the sun crested over the peak, the sunlight reflecting off the fresh snow. He had been here before – a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, even an infinite number of times.

Offering a prayer to the god or gods who had created him he once again scanned the holy mountain, searching for their arrival which always came after the sun rose and chased away the darkness. In a past life, he had only known darkness – his existence completely subsumed by an impotent rage aimed at the unknowable and oblivious gods. Through many reincarnations that rage had weakened into anger, depleted into indifference before finally becoming that which is, something he merely accepted. Warmed by this acquiescence to the axiomatic truth of being, he felt the bliss that comes with letting go. The weight he once carried melted away into nothingness.

As the sunlight became stronger the chariots that the gods used to reach the summit began to climb the mountain. At first, they were empty to his sight, ghostly wains ascending into the heavens. Yet as time passed, and the rays of sun glowed more powerfully the first god appeared before him. This god was tall, dressed in animal skins to keep warm on that cold and bright morning. Watching as the god ascended, he remembered more lives he had lived. Becoming lost in his memories the god disappeared over the mountain into the oblivion. There had been a time when he had envied the gods and their carriages. A burning desire that had once been in his heart plagued him for ages upon ages. The fires of jealousy had done him no good. Without heed to his prayers and petitions the gods came and went, never inviting him to see the other side of that holy mountain. Now though, age and wisdom had freed him of his ruinous desires and jealousies.

Other gods began to ascend the mountain, ferried to the otherworld beyond the peak by the same carriages that had borne that first god. He watched as the still mountain came to life with an innumerable number of these celestial beings. In days gone by, he had wondered which of these gods had made him. This wondering, just as the anger, and just as the jealousies and desires that had once disquieted his soul, ceased to plague him. What profit would come in knowing which of the unknowable gods had made him? Would that god take notice of him? Of course they would not. They never did. The gods were there for their own sake, and for their sake alone. 

Manumitted from the bondage of anger, released from the chains of desire and liberated from the pernicious and ceaseless searching for meaning outside of himself, he was free to just be, to simply exist and bask in the presence of the holy mountain, bathed as it was in the sunlight that gave no warmth. As the sun rose higher into the sky the carriages became increasingly full of these gods headed to hereafter. Smiling and puffing on his pipe he thought about his erstwhile dreams. Stopping his meandering mind with force he returned his focus to a more contemplative state, one that would keep him in this very moment, the exact moment of destiny. His dreams would only lead him to places that were less real than where he was. That is the thing about destiny, it is not where one is going, but where one is.

The wind blew sharply, but once again he felt no chills. He had born on this mountain. After countless lives of striving, he had concluded that this moment was all that mattered. This destiny was all that mattered. This moment was destiny itself. Peace emanated from deep within his soul, and he was once again awash in that bliss that only comes through acceding to reality, that bliss that comes when one empties themselves of illusion and dreams.

He gazed up again towards summit. The first god who had appeared on that cold morning, the tall one, stood, backlit as he was by the cold rays of this winter sun that had now climbed past the peak and stood before him in all its algor glory. This tall god was fully bathed in that light that gave no warmth, its glaring brightness obscuring the dozens of children that stood around him. They were halfway down the mountain, quickly descending in patterns that were wild and unpredictable before his eyes could focus enough to discover that they were in fact, children of the gods. 

The first ones whizzed past him to somewhere far behind him, but his eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the tall god still standing at the peak. Was this god his maker? More carriages transferring these young gods reached the summit where the tall one was awaiting their arrival. He then directed them down the holy mountain in those same dizzying patterns. The beauty of the snow rising in their wake overcame him as he stood there. He became lost in contemplation; lost in these dizzying motions.

There, on that cold and sunlit morning he became one with the holy mountain. He became one with the tall god standing at its summit, still backlit by the powerfully bright and incomprehensibly frigid sun. He became one with all the snow around him, all the snow on that sacred mountain. He became one with the cold; became one with the carriages full of child gods; and, at long last, he became one with the gods themselves – specifically, a child of god named Brittany. 

Brittany was eleven years old, young in relation to the ancient mountain, but impossibly old in comparison to him in his present life. Unlike him, she was not from this mountain. In fact, prior to this fateful day she had never been on a mountain before. There are no mountains in Florida. Prior to this very morning she had only known snow through television programs. It was her Floridian and warm state roots that had led her down in one of those erratic and incomprehensible patterns. Unable to stop on her own accord she had followed the advice of the tall god at the top of the mountain – she plowed into the man at the bottom of the hill who had spent his final morning gazing up at the gods. Her tears became commingled with his life blood, poured back again into his mountainous and formless existence. She was unharmed but shaken. He had been obliterated, blown out of existence. His final thought centered on the concept of nirvana. Had he attained it?

A few hours later the tall god and the young one called Brittany returned to the base of the mountain from the lodge where they had drunk hot cocoa by the fire, recalling the incident with a laugh that matched the roaring of the fire that provided the warmth that the sun had refused to give. They rolled up three balls of snow, each one slightly smaller than the last. With pleasure the tall one placed the middle-sized ball of snow atop the largest, and then the smallest atop the middle. Lifting Brittany up above his head, she took over the act of creation, placing a slightly damaged top hat on the smallest sphere of snow. With delight and squeals she took two lumps of coal and fashioned eyes for this snowman. He came back to consciousness as she placed a carrot into his face, giving him a nose. Smaller lumps of coals formed a crooked and mirthless smile. Completing the ensemble with a scarf and three more black pieces of coal to serve as imaginary buttons for his invisible coat she leapt out of her father’s arms to stand back to admire her handiwork. Satisfied, Brittany and her dad returned to the lodge for another cup of hot cocoa and a hearty dinner.

Once again, he was alone on the mountain. The gods had returned to wherever it was that they went. The sun set behind him and the holy mountain darkened. Sad, but not embittered, he realized that he had not attained nirvana. His being blown out of existence was yet another illusion. He realized that his religious conceptualization had been too literal. More meditation, more contemplation was necessary to attain nirvana. Acceptance would only come through axiomatic processes. It would only come in the spring, when at long last, all the snow would finally melt. Then and only then would he be no more.