When we die, we float outwards but there is nothing around us to protect us from ourselves: no light, no smell, no sound, no touch, no heat nor cold. No sleep either (nor drinking, laughing, coughing, getting drunk, blabbing with friends). We become a cottony ball of self that wanders about a nothingness in space complete, and there is nothing to keep us from our thoughts and thoughts (and thoughts) ... which do go on.

No sleep, no solitary drinking, no pills, no work, no diversions at all. Since we can't kill ourselves (we're already dead) we are left with our bobbling thoughts twenty-four hours (even though there are no more hours) days weeks years and years (even though there are no more days weeks years). No distractions in our new senseless world.

We are free to go mad (without eyes or hands or body to show madness) or to scream or yell or rave (without a voice,no ears around to hear) or to weep (no tears for they took our lachrymal glands). No drink nor pills nor company (nor hope of an ever ending), nothing to take the worst of it away from us alone. We are free to do anything we must, but there is no one to do it with, no one to commiserate with us except our own voice in our own head (which now no longer exists) caught alone floating alone in a gray/white no space mist.

Which means that we have to make up the new world. One with which we can --- in the midst of this cottony bog of no-world fog --- begin to get back the things that have disappeared: light-dark-feel-hurt-wind-moon-stars-rain-singing-life-love. We've to start being as gods, creating the whole world all over again.

This takes a while. For we have to create, say, a galaxy, a solar system, a planet, a people, us, we, the self, we have to create all using nothing but thoughts. That's hard work, for we have to discover how dwelling in this featureless cave of self how to build (first) ourselves, and then (next) the stuff to go along with us (I have to create you too); from the first peep of light, a first faint buzz of sound, a tiny wisp of scent, a minute-sized prickle; then a new body to go along with these new senses we've just created (and it only took us 10,000,000,000,000 million light years to begin to start all over again).

It demands considerable time, for after we make me, and then you, we have to make a world then worlds then universes of galaxies for us to start to inhabitant. We the creator, the first inhabitants of a new night, a new day.

--- A. J. G. Ross
The Beginnings of Nothing
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