I realized all my 'why's were addressed to someone, or something, or some huge celestial listening ear encompassing the universe... Something like that. I wanted an answer from this being.
Even if it was 'just because I felt like it' - even if it was something stupid like that, or something malicious - 'because I enjoyed the thought of it' - I wanted an answer, a reason, an explanation to the horror and apparent meaninglessness of death, and thereby, of life. I wanted to know why a conclusion could be so illogical, a last paragraph so inconclusive, extinguishing my last faint hope that there is a meaning to all of this and a reason for everything, even suffering, and perhaps beauty in this suffering.
But there was no reply. Of course there was no reply.
More than when I was in that flipping car, more than when I stood before a bone white urn, I felt like I was staring into a completely empty abyss from which there would never be, and could never be anything approaching an answer. And staring into that while I ask 'why' and being answered with resounding, echoing, empty silence, is one of the most painful things in my life.
So where are you? Silence. What happens next? Silence. Do ghosts exist? Do souls?