Escaping the Afterlife Industrial Complex

Ever since I broke a fingernail grip and let go of my final, tenuous grasp on a need for an afterlife to assuage my ego, I have felt free as the birds who laugh at the borders they fly over without needing official government documentation. I no longer struggle with apocalyptic visions of the infernal destinations proclaimed in the Abrahamic unHoly Books. I no longer fear an eternity of hellfire and brimstone. Nor do I fear the equally hellish place in the clouds where I would be forced to bow down and praise a megalomaniacal deity for endless days and nights, a chattel slavery marketed as bliss. I can't put a finger on the auspicious moment I accepted the afterlife is a myth designed to manipulate the fearful, only that I have unshackled...