I went online to google maps. I didn't know where I was going, so I hoped the map would tell me. Little did I know, that it's not supposed to work that way. I was supposed to know where I want to go, and the map would tell me how to get there. Oh, the plight of the philosopher. I need to know where I need to go. No, I don't need you to tell me where to go. I've had enough of you. Go away, I don't care where. But apparently, you can't go on google to tell you where. You have to know ahead of time.
So where do I find a map of where I need to go? Maybe there's one up in the attic. Or maybe up in my own attic. Or the attic above my head. Maybe the angels can tell me. Or the E.T.s, or the ancestors. That's it! It's the Day of the Dead. Oh yeah, now I know where I'm going. To my death.
But that brings up a lot of questions. I'm a philosopher, after all. But if I'm a philosopher, aren't I supposed to know? Aren't I the one who can tell people where to go?
So, a map to death. What's the best way to get there? What lies along the path? And what lies beyond? You knew I would get to that! Socrates and Jesus both pointed up to the sky and gave us a clue. Is the journey to death worthwhile if it all just ends? Shakespeare wondered. Life's but a walking shadow, he said. Alan Watts quoted a guy who said life is the journey from the maternity ward to the crematorium. Not worth the gamble, he said. We'll, I'll ask the ancestors. They have arrived there. I'll close my eyes, and I can see a better day, as Justin Bieber said. My ancestors will come and speak to us, if we can learn to listen. They can give us the map.