I know a lot of folks in my age group start to assemble ‘bucket lists’. We all know what they are; they’re the things we want to do and experience before we leave this earthly plain.
We make all these plans for the disposal of our physical remains, so those left behind can carry out and hopefully afford the exorbitant expense of our final arrangements. (Well, some of us do, anyway.) But have you ever thought about what you might like to do after you’re gone?
At the risk of sounding melodramatic – or of spouting off a bunch of religious doctrine from the myriad of faiths out there – here are some of the things I might focus on. That is, if there really is any kind of life-after-death. Folks who’ve had near-death experiences (you can read many accounts just like this one, from Psychology Today) for the most part no longer fear death; in fact, they often look forward to it. It can’t be all that bad now, can it?
So, folks, strap yourself in – this bantering is all in good fun, I promise.
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First thing I’d do when and if I get there, is look up John Lennon; and hopefully my arrival at the pearly gates precedes Yoko’s. I never spent enough time in life to really listen to his stuff, and for some reason, his words resonate with me now more than ever.
After hobnobbing and hanging with him for a cup of tea and – no doubt – some interesting dialogue, I’d look up Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan. I bet they’re jamming-up-a-storm somewhere; and I would just love to see them do a guitar dual over Voodoo Child. I bet the back-up musicians would be awesome too! Think of Bob Berg on the soprano sax and Coltrane on the tenor, and maybe toss in a little bass from Jaco Pastorius. Very Coolsville!
While I’m in the music department, I’d find Janis Joplin and just give her a big hug. She didn’t get a lot of love in this world from anyone, not even her own parents; and I’d be shocked if she ever wanted to come back and do it all over again.
Louis Armstrong is near and dear to me – one of so many great jazz musicians of the fifties and sixties – when my aunts were young, they used to hang out at his place, and he even joked that he wanted to adopt them. I believe they became life-long friends; and few humans that graced this planet were more loving than Satchmo.
I’d definitely want to take a can of bear spray along, just in case I happened to run into Genghis Khan or … George Soros (I know, he’s not dead yet, but I’m hoping it will be any day now). And I’d also want a slingshot in case I bumped into Goliath – but maybe after a few thousand years he’s had time to mellow.
While I’m in the biblical borough, I wouldn’t mind checking in on old Gilgamesh – and going over that epic of his again, assuming that up there, we all magically speak the same language again. I doubt very much there was a ‘Tower of Babel‘ moment up there, confusing and dividing the few thousand resident souls by giving them all different languages.
And by gosh, those incredibly stunning rock structures at Baalbek in Lebanon and the great pyramid of Giza are a great mystery to me – I would love to try and find somebody (you would think I could find someone honest from that epoch in time up there, after all, it is heaven..) who could tell me how all those massive stones were carved to machine-like precision and lifted into place. There is so much fraud (and always has been) in the ‘scientific’ field of Archaeology, I don’t believe much of the claptrap those dudes make up.
If it’s really heaven, there won’t be any shortages of anything, and Amazon can go straight to you-know-where. We shouldn’t need any toilet paper, sani-wipes or masks up there now, should we?
Fast forward to the present (in geologic terms, anyway) there are three individuals I would dearly love to talk to. The first is Rudolph Hess. This is all eighty-year old stuff now, so if you are not as captivated by WW II history as I am, just skip down a couple of paragraphs.
Hess was Deputy Führer – or #2 man behind Adolf Hitler from 1933 to 1941 (relatively early in the war) – when he miraculously flew solo to Scotland (which would have been practically impossible with the air defenses in place), supposedly either ‘defecting’ from Nazi Germany, or to present a peace offering to Churchill. The Brits had to have known he was coming, and let him in. And, arguably, someone in the Nazi hierarchy had to have known about his ill-conceived plan as well. It didn’t turn out all that well for him, that’s for sure.
The most interesting historical account of events, and end-of-the-twig speculation I’ve read is ‘Hess and the Penguins’ by Dr. Joseph Farrell. I don’t know if his book is still in print, but I have a copy. They never let that poor guy out of solitary confinement; he was ultimately the lone tenant of Spandau Prison in West Berlin, and eventually died (or was murdered?) in 1987 at the ripe old age of 93.
Even in the late 1980’s, his secrets were way too sensitive for the post-war powers (Great Britain, the U.S. and the Soviet Union – all three taking turns guarding the old man) to risk revealing; according to someone way up there, anyway.
Another guy I’d really like to chat with is Danny Casolaro. He was meeting a ‘source’ at a hotel in West Virginia while investigating a story he referred to as “The Octypus” where he was later found dead in his hotel room bathtub with ’10 to 12 slashes in his wrists’. He sure must have pissed some pretty big dogs off. His death was, if you can swallow it, declared a suicide. That was way back in 1991, so I imagine he’s pretty much over it now and can probably talk about what he knew – secrets he took to his grave.
And what would a trip to heaven be without a visit with Marylin Monroe. She would be such fun to talk to – and I sure would like to know about the circumstances surrounding her demise as well. Some say she was one of many of Kennedy’s lovers who learned of forbidden things during one or more pillow-talk sessions, and paid the ultimate price. Others still insist that she died of a drug overdose.
I bet that close by Marylin’s place I would likely find one other person I would just die to talk with – Dorothy Kilgallen. She was a journalist back in the 50’s and 60’s who was publicly skeptical of the conclusions of the Warren Commission‘s report about the assassination of President Kennedy and Jack Ruby‘s shooting of Lee Oswald; and she wrote several newspaper articles on the subject and even published a copy of Jack Ruby’s testimony to the Warren Commission in multiple newspapers of the time, before it had been ‘officially’ released. No wonder she was ‘suicided’. We don’t have many journalists of her caliber and courage around any more.
I think all of that should get me through the first month or so up there, anyway. It’s admittedly a pretty heavy dance card. But what with all of the shenanigans going on – almost worldwide – over this COVID plandemic, maybe things up there are a helluva lot better than they are down here. So, I’m making my list, just in case I get that ‘last call’!