Note: If you are easily offended by religious thought that contradicts your oh-so-verified and perfect understanding of God and the Afterlife, move on. You probably shouldn’t be reading my work anyway.

Let’s start with this religious/philosophical concept: God created the heavens; the universe; all of it; not only this corner of the Milky Way. It is rightfully assumed by believers that God wasn’t relegated a portion of the universe or put together just this one part of the universe and then accidentally spilled the rest on the floor.

No. God created the universe. Any God you want, since all the major religions claim the same accomplishment for their deity. In Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, this is absolute. In Hinduism, it is damn close in that the universe was asleep and then came to life, but it wasn’t not there and then was as is the case in the dominant trifecta.

The after-death part: In Christianity, Islam, and most schools of Judaism, everyone will end up in heaven. The do-gooders pretty quickly; the rest of us after some pretty compromising-sounding trials. But still, the post-purgatory promise is some sort of salvation awaits us all. Eventually.

Okay.  Of the major religions, while Mormonism would be the most chill with the concept of life in other galaxies, Jews and Muslims alike have come to terms with the reality of science. Christianity is the slowest to nod to the extraterrestrials, impaling people as recently as the 16^th century for suggesting the earth is not the center of the universe, but they’ve come around. Extremist evangelicals not so much but they live in their own universe anyway.

Recap: God created the heavens—all of them—and when we die those of us who chewed our food with our mouths closed get to go there.

What this means to me is there just might be life from other galaxies in heaven, unless there are a whole bunch of heavens, as in each planet or galaxy has its own heaven isp domain and the universe is indeed segregated. Otherwise, heaven just might appear closer to life in Mos Eisley Cantina than a moose lodge. But how cool would that be? No matter their origin, anyone in this galactic heaven would have had to been good by their God’s standards, so fights are not likely to break out and they’ll probably never run short on stock.

A few glitches.

Cremated people, like those spread in Russian art galleries and artists graveyards, or those dispersed in the Mediterranean Sea near childhood beaches, would either not be present, or none of us is actually “present” to begin with as if we will run into a cousin at the mall, but instead we are there in some sort of thought presence, a force if you will, a spiritual embodiment we recognize because of something eternal, like the soul. Since the earthly ashes simply ended any actual post-mortem embrace or long, tight hug with a kiss on the neck, they must not be present. Right? Not so much.  

The major (and minor actually) religions have an answer for this dilemma: The body is a vessel, nothing more, and the afterlife is a gathering of souls. This allows the dismissal of ET showing up in our heaven because most of these same belief systems assume the rest of the universe is soulless. It’s that arrogance we have, I assume, that keeps them away from Earth to begin with. Shame.

I’ve made some mistakes in my life; wrong turns, bad decisions, like everyone else. At the same time, I’ve spent the past forty-five years either studying research and verification methods or teaching it at the collegiate level. Truth has a closer relationship with science to me than it does with faith. I haunt my students with one question which I tell them is the beginning and end of all they do in college: Where did you get your information?

The bible? The Koran? The Torah?

Mom and Dad? The plumber?

Maybe this is why I spend so much time in earthbound cantinas; I want to celebrate what is, here, the tangible love of the human touch, laughter, sorrow, now, here. This much I know is true, the rest is certainly faith, and I’ve spent my life surrounded by a few people as close to sainthood as ever one could be, and they have often swayed my faith. But I get tied up sometimes in what I “want” to be true. I “want” to meet Letty again, have a hard cider and tuna bites in whatever soul-like state we find ourselves. I want to drive to Florida with Eddie, guitars in tow. I want to sing on some heavenly park bench with Dave. Of course I do. I want to sit quietly again with my dad, talking about nothing, just being nearby and again feel that wonderous safety of my father, even if–especially–in heaven.

But for now, truth impels me to seek love while I’m still using this aging vessel. We are the only known species in the universe—for if there are others, we don’t yet know—leaving us the only species anywhere who can create from nothing; creatio ex nihilo. We can create a space between us reserved for compassion, for understanding. We can create hope for those who have had less fortune, and we can use language—another creation from nothing—to tell someone, again, “I love you,” like we did before, no matter how long ago it was. We can say again, “I will miss you,” before they move on and close that door behind them.

We can say, “We will meet again someday,” and know that despite the lack of evidence, despite the need to rely entirely upon faith to say that and believe it, eventually, it is all we have left.

She led a beautiful life.

He led a holy life.

They have moved on and whatever truth there is to know they now know. But for us, they’ve decidedly moved on.

So must we.