The curtain is down on stage; the house lights are dimming slowly, giving people time to settle down, which they do. Wagner’s “Parzival” is being played softly over a public address system
As soon as the house lights are off, the curtain rises and a white spotlight illuminates what appears to be a tall female figure clad in dazzling gold and white, bedecked with jewels, standing at a podium center stage. The music recedes like a wave falling back on a sandy beach, and she raises both arms to capture the attention and silence of the audience in this small, elegant theater before she commences to speak.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Theater at Life’s End! “I am your hostess, Lucy Golden Years, who will introduce your speakers as they come on stage. What you are about to hear has been tailored especially to your tastes, so we hope you will enjoy it. First let me introduce Mrs Penelope Oldage. Come along, dear.”
A similarly bejeweled lady enters from the left wing. She moves stiffly, her obvious age seemingly a contradiction to her youthful dress, which glitters with sequins, sparkles with stones all set in a brilliant white background. As the first speaker steps down from the podium, all but vanishing behind it, Penelope mounts its steps, thereby assuming height she had not on the floor. Her crowned head nods happily to restrained clapping of the audience, then she too raises her arms and the onlookers become silent. Her voice, that of a younger, alto opera singer, commands everyone’s attention.
“It’s so nice to see you all sitting here, practically filling the auditorium, each one of you destined soon to become a personal friend of mine. Some of you come here in the glory of your lives, fulfilled, secure, happy, having outlived griefs, troubles, wants, losses, ready and eager for the most thrilling adventure of all, your very own demise. You’ve seen other people die, but that has not told you much about what to expect for yourselves. Others of you are glad to have it all over, the poverty, the suffering, the hunger for food and comfort. But one and all must wonder what lies ahead, just as your predecessors wondered, and you all hope, even in the face of a complete absence of evidence, that there will be a future for you, or that there will be a “you” to witness it.
“Well, I’m not here to disclose information about that most pressing of subjects. If you ask me I’ll have to deny any special knowledge. I’ll support and guide you in any other way so you can come to terms with what is to you “the unknown.” I’ll be here as you approach the portal marked “Exit”, to support you if you stumble, and encourage you forward when you want to turn back. And you be sure, I want to make the move acceptable, fun or funny if possible, for death is in no way frightening, the scary tales people have always told notwithstanding.
“First let me deal with the question of your vision, about which some of you have complained. Right now you are losing the sight you were used to having on earth, but you have yet to develop fully that second sight which sees behind the facades to the realities beneath. So it’s as if you see two images of everything, neither quite in focus, often as if you were seeing through a glass darkly. That will pass shortly. I suggest you practice patience and avoid being disturbed by the condition: let me assure you it will not last.
“Now something more important: you will soon feel as if a large wave were picking you up as you swim near the beach. You’ll see it looming high over you, foaming and curling at the crest, and you may wonder what it will do with you. Will it crash down on you? Will it lift you to new heights? Will it swallow you? Some of you may already feel the beginning of that wave, uncertainty in your footing, loss of touch with your surroundings. To those people I say, let yourselves be uplifted; ride with the wave; it’s going to take you anyway, so why not relax and go along with the ride? This will be the beginning of the trip through the exit door.
“As you feel yourselves uplifted, try to feel trust in what is happening. Think of yourselves on an air mattress floating down a wide river -- no waterfalls or even rapids, no rocks, just floating smoothly downstream. And imagine this to be happening to you right now and feel that it is going to happen for a long time.
“Can you feel that? Are you floating?”
Affirmations rise from here and there in the auditorium, few at first, then gathering force and volume. Soon the hall is abuzz with sounds of voices speaking together their acknowledgment and appreciation for what appears to be happening to them. Penelope waves farewell to her audience and climbs down off the podium to cheers and clapping. She is replaced by Lucy Golden Years who again raises her arms for silence.
“Thank you for your warm reception of Penelope; she had an important message for you, didn’t she?”(Applause.) “Of course, you still want to know what’s in store for you, right?”
Expressions of agreement and some laughter sound throughout the theater.
“But the whole problem here is that it has nothing to do with knowledge and everything to do with experience. You know how some of your experiences in life were impossible to describe in words? I mean, you were unable to do them justice with words? (Sounds of agreement)
“Well it’s the same with dying. We can’t give you a preview of the entire process because there are simply no words to describe it. Can any of you accept that?” (Sounds of some agreement)
“You could at least try!” yells a male voice from the middle of the audience.
“Oh, we have,we have,” replies Lucy, “for many years, and to no avail. The information we forwarded was simply unusable. It only added confusion and actually almost spoiled the experience when it did come. So now we say nothing.” There is complete silence in the hall. Lucy picks up something from her podium.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, our next guest is from the other side, completely, so few of you will be able to see him. We are able to reproduce his voice by means of some sophisticated wizardry provided by engineers at Google. Though even then, there will be souls who cannot hear the voice. They will, however, be able to read what he says on the screen.
Without more ado, here is Dwal Kul, longtime advisor to mankind in its search for spiritual enlightenment.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” The voice is very deep, accented slightly, and seeming to come from a large man who could project his voice into every corner of the hall, though he is nowhere in sight. Rapt silence reigns.
“We Tibetans are entranced by numbers so I should be able to tell you how many groups like your own I have shepherded through the Exit, but in truth, I lost count long ago, not that it matters a great deal. Though if I could tell you, perhaps it would lend credence to my next two statements: First, no matter how many times I have witnessed the joy of a soul released from the shackles of his body and his memories, it is still impossible to describe. Words are attached to the experiences of earth; the unearthly evades them. Hence our apparent unwillingness to try to communicate the experience to you. Second, many of you have spent years searching for your identity, for your selves, and for some this has been a successful undertaking. However, let me say emphatically, you cannot go through the Exit without completely giving up what you so ardently sought, though, ironically, you must have found it to be able to give it up. Seems unfair, doesn’t it?” The great voice pauses as if to let the implications of its statements sink in.
Then it continues:
“Many folks have expressed disappointment at the necessity of giving up all they had striven to acquire in their lives at the very moment when they could sit back and start enjoying their accomplishments. Think of authors, musicians, inventors, professors, doctors, all arriving at the point at which they could bask in the light of their achievements, only to be snatched from them by what they think of as a premature death. How benevolent can a system be, they demand to know, which would pull the rug out from under them at the very moment when they would be enjoying the present moment for the first time in their lives?
“Well, like any factotum working for a large enterprise, I have to say two things: First, the way affairs are managed here is out of my hands. I don’t call the shots. And second, by way of an attempt to comfort people with those questions, please accept my guarantee that you will understand soon and be reconciled to what happens. Meanwhile, let’s get on with the presentations.”
The big voice falls silent and leaves the listeners quiet in their seats.
The theater darkens as strange sounds reach for the ears of the audience from out of the walls. Holograms appear above the podium, vague and colorless at first, then coalescing into bright colors and grotesquely human forms, as if out of Hieronymus Bosch’s paintings. And they aren’t still, but writhe and strut as they do on his canvases. Gradually the ugly figures fill the space above the watchers, some of whom duck when the hobgoblins cruise too near.
Then the cloud of horrors descends upon the audience, buzzing them, getting in their faces, making grating, screeching, screaming noises. The house lights go on, but the panic is wholesale: members of the audience struggle to their feet and flee the theater flapping their arms about their heads as if to ward off attack from their pursuers.
Two dozen people remain seated, laughing loudly, and to their laughter is added guffaws from The Tibetan.
“Those poor souls forget they’re already dead, and that no further harm can come to them. But oh, look at the identities, passions, comforts, and possessions they cannot leave behind!” exclaims the big voice not unkindly.
Then to his remaining audience: “Come friends, let me treat you to something very special for having stayed in your seats when others fled. Here is Dame Kiri Te Kanawa singing “In Paradisum.”
As the curtain descends and the house lights go out, a hologram of the greatest singer on earth, performing at the zenith of her talent, commences to enthrall the audience with the power of her majestic voice.
November 1,2013
Dame Kiri Te Kanawa
of New Zealand
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