The Fifty two shores - A dream of afterlife
I didn’t feel myself die. There was no pain, no falling, no darkness. Just a quiet interruption—as if someone had gently closed a book mid-sentence. And then I was standing on a beach. The sky was wrong. It was bright, but there was no sun. No source. Light existed the way thoughts do—everywhere at once, without direction. The sea was calm, almost glass, and the horizon blurred into the sky so perfectly that it felt like the world had forgotten where to end. There were people there. Not crowds—just enough to make silence feel shared. Some stood still, some whispered, some stared at their hands as if expecting them to vanish. I walked to the nearest man. “Where are we?” I asked. He looked at me like he had already asked the same question a thousand times. “This,” he said, “is where we arrive.” “After death?” He nodded. “After everything in between.” “In between?” His eyes shifted toward the sea. “Judgment. Passage. Whatever it was… we don’t remember it.” And that was the strangest part....
