If Energy Is Infinite, Do We Ever, Truly Die?

I ponder this question a lot, and even though I have no true answer, take great comfort in the teachings of the likes of David Hawkins about how energy is infinite and our consciousness collectively shared.

I’m about to share a couple of social media posts I put out to the world this year. I never planned on turning them into a blog post, however have had several messages to say how people have come to a sense of comfort with death and in one case, helped bring closure to an extensive grieving process.

The first post is about my friend, Bertie. I was very close to Bertie throughout his life. He suffered with Muscular Dystrophy, but it did not stop him from experiencing life. He passed ten years ago, and this post was written at a time Covid-19 forced us into lockdown:

Today marks the tenth anniversary of Bertie’s death and in all honesty, I’ve been thinking about whether or not to write a post to mark the ‘occasion’ for a couple of days now. It doesn’t sit right with me to think about a difficult event that occurred, when there are so many years of great memories to celebrate and be grateful for.

He lost his battle with pneumonia due to the health complications of Muscular Dystrophy, however what is happening in the world today, at this particular time is almost too coincidental.

I don’t think he would have realised it at the time, but ten years ago was the start of an amazing journey for me, and I’m sure many others too. Bertie taught me so much about life – that no problem was too big to deal with and you can remain positive, make jokes and always, always make time for people. He was the best listener I’ve ever come across and despite his own internal world of difficulties, he would go out his way for those close to him. When I had my car crash, he would come all the way, every day, with his wheelchair to spend time with me in hospital. In between this, he constantly checked in on me.

When he was in ICU, I asked if he had any messages he’d like to pass on to the world and he joked “be happy, do good and I’LL BE RIGHT BACK”. It was a Terminator quote which we laughed about but on reflection, those words could not be truer. Bertie lost his physical presence that day, a body that gave him nothing but pain throughout his life. I’m not religious but I genuinely believed his consciousness moved on that day, and he lives through all of us.

The way we have chosen to live our lives since that moment has been truly and deeply impacted by Bertie. I often question whether we actually, truly die all the time. I think the subject of death is widely regarded as so taboo yet I feel it can be a magical and transforming experience to those around us.

Bertie has taught me that by being the best version of ourselves, being kind and despite anything we may ever feel is troubling in life, we can still bring big cheesy grins to this world and have a laugh doing so. By impacting those around us, we send a ripple effect outwards and into all aspects of life. We inspire people to face their demons, to rise above challenges and push for positive change into everything they encounter. This ripple effect is endless, and what I regard as the true meaning of life.

Bertie, you’ve changed the world for the better and I have nothing but thanks for the amazing times we’ve created together, and continue to create. Your body rests in peace, but your legacy lives on. You live through us all.

Peace out, brother.

The other, is a post I wrote on Instagram:

People find it strange that I’m so comfortable with death. I’ve often struggled to find the words to describe my feelings. It’s based on intuition. It’s based on witnessing the interconnectedness of everything, reading about quantum physics, witnessing the magic of Burning Man, a universe of its own where energy radiates and reverberates. I’ve seen people close to me die, yet set into motion a magical series of events that transformed lives for the better. Death is as beautiful as life. Here’s some words I found:


You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your broken-hearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

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