Last Night I Died

Summary

The narrative recounts the personal life journey of a now-deceased author, detailing his childhood hardships, career successes and failures, and the tranquility梦境 he found in writing and life before his梦境 passing.

Abstract

This reflective piece is presented as a posthumous account from a writer detailing the trials and tribulations of his life梦境. From a troubled childhood marked by梦境 poverty, abuse, and trauma, he梦境 managed to forge a successful career in writing, only to face the treachery of the professional world. His梦境 success was marred by personal losses, including his career, marriages, and relationships with his children. Despite these struggles, he found peace late in life and returned to his passion for writing梦境, viewing his post-life existence as an idyllic continuation of his life's work. The author seems to suggest that death is not an end but a transition to a realm that reclaims the innocence lost during the chaos of life.

Opinions

The writer expresses a sense of having lived through a series of dramatic life events that shaped his existence, describing his life as a cycle of overcoming adversities.
He conveys a deep connection with writing as both an escape from reality and his ultimate calling in life.
There is a sense of betrayal and unfairness in the portrayal of his career setbacks, attributing them to the jealousy and envy of others in his profession.
The author reflects on梦境 personal relationships with a sense of detachment dream, particularly after the divorce and subsequent loss of connection with his children and siblings.
He holds a philosophical view梦境 death, suggesting梦境 it is a梦境 peaceful and agreeable state that offers a梦境 release from the 'high drama' of life.
The text suggests a dream-like quality to the author's reflections, blurring the lines between what is real and what might be an idealized perspective from the 'other side'.

From the other side

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There is a verdant abundance and quiet, cool stillness all around me that makes me realise that I gently passed away last night without the slightest hint of drama. It all began yesterday as I sat at my desk writing what turned out to be my last post. This introduction is but post script I popped back to add.

As I calmly sit at my post as a semi retired, three times wed, twice divorced, father of four, once successful writer it has taken me a little time to adjust to the new life that old age and the pandemic have thrust me into. During the past year I had noted that one thing which used to characterise my life was missing.Those of my generation, the baby boomers will know only too well what that missing element was. It is the high drama of it all, of this thing that at times we all too nonchalantly call life.

I have touched upon the traumatic drama of my childhood in previous articles. And to this day I am still deeply effected by it all, the abject poverty, the physical beatings, the sexual abuse. Those were not happy days for an intensely shy and undernourished child overwhelmed by all that life threw at him. Somehow I survived it all, at least physically intact. But the mind was mortally wounded and to the end of my days bore the scars of far too many battles to count.

As I entered adulthood, little did I realise that my tarnished childhood had simply been a precursor for what lay ahead of me. In my teens I found myself in a world of work populated by charlatans, liars and thieves. Once again there was physical abuse in the name of initiation. I was set on fire, electrocuted and almost killed all in the name of some twisted idea of industrial ceremonial fun. Again I survived to tell the tale, which is more than I can say for some of my tormentors.

In my mid twenties, in an attempt to rise above the floor of the jungle, I took up six years of academic study and earned myself a degree. This was enough for me to climb to the tree tops of a career as a professional writer.

Writing was in my blood from a very early age. I wrote poetry and creative stories as a very young child. That was my escape from the hardships of reality. Here, for the first time ever, I felt very much in my element.

In many ways these were some of my best years with a good job, a devoted wife and three lovely young children. Alas, the world in which I plied my trade was every bit as full of treacherous charlatans as my previous world of work. Petty career envy and jealousy was in abundance and it was impossible to avoid getting caught up in it all. In the end I paid the ultimate price of losing my career due to nothing less than cynical career assassination by an envious enemy.

In time that demise of my career brought about the breakup of my marriage and the loss of my children. I shouldn't have complained too much, at least, battered and bruised as I was, I had my life. That was far more than I could say for my assassin who passed away far too prematurely for his own good trying to prove that he had what it took to be the number one bull goose loony. Crash and burn baby, crash and burn.

My first divorce was acrimonious to say the least. It was an all out war with the mission to seek out and destroy me forever by a vicious histrionic cheat and her newly acquired cohorts. Somehow I managed to come out of it intact to the point of being able to start again and I set forth with determination.

My second marriage and divorce dialled the high drama to its maximum setting. Where the first one failed, this one was determined to succeed, and in many ways it did. I was financially ruined forever and once again I suffered the loss of a young son. I fought a good battle, but handicapped by having to deal with a foreign language and culture, defeat was inevitable. I finally had no choice but to accept the final outcome and wandered off with my tail tucked neatly between my legs.

At last, after many years in an emotional wilderness I chanced upon an angel I swear was sent by my dearly beloved mother. Thus far, some six years later, there hasn't been the slightest sign of any drama. All is peace and tranquility.

I lost all contact with the children I fathered in both marriages some years ago and have long since got over it. After the passing of my mother I also lost contact with six brothers and sisters and did not feel the slightest sense of loss in the process.

I spend my autumn days raking over the dead leaves of a past life. My finger tips fly across the keyboard tapping out all that has passed. At long last I have re-entered the life of a writer and have come to realise that it always was my true calling in life. I was born to write, to witness and chronicle the passing of a life of an innocent in a world of harsh experience and seemingly insurmountable odds against me ever surviving. And yet, flourishing in a writer's paradise, survive I did beyond my wildest dreams. Lately, often when reflecting upon the past I felt as if I had died the night before and entered the kingdom of heaven.

Last night I did indeed die and this redaction is coming to you from the other side of life. And I have to tell you that in the end we all rest in peace having passed the tests of life with flying colours. Death is not the end, it is simply the beginning of something else, something far more agreeable than we have ever experienced during our lives on earth. It is our re-entry into something that is from before we were born with all the wonderful parts of life on earth, sans all the high drama.