Strange how we remember things that happen, which is like going back to the past. Or we look forward to something, or worry about it, which is like going into the future. Or, we can be in a conscious present and experience no movement whatsoever. Apparently, we create time, speed it up or slow it down to satisfy ourselves, making up stories with narratives to document, and justify, our self-interest. When life is over and the narrative ends, a form of general amnesia settles upon the living, like general anesthesia: “existence” is an opiate; “being” a trance; “time” a delusion; “experience” is Propofol for the gullible, nitrous oxide for the naïve. If it’s true that we return to the earth when we die because “out of it we were taken and to dust we return” -- that’s just another way of saying that before we were born we were put into a coma from which we never wake up.