At the Intersection of Post Coital Bliss and Easy Death, Destination: Eternity.

I will spare you the details of the coitus in question.  Suffice it to say it was fantastic.  Afterwards, laying there warm and satisfied, she asked me if the door was locked, and I didn't want to check.  Post coital bliss is a beautiful thing.  When I was younger I called it bio-narco euphoria.  All the best  chemicals the human body can make shoot through the spine, spreading a numbess that feels luminous throughout the entire central nervous system. All about me that is matter disappears for an instance, becomes an oapque invertebrate bobbing in a warm briny primordial soup.  Afterwards, spent and panting I gradually reconstitute, heavier and softer than before, more aqueous.  I hate to move during post coital bliss.  There is a window that is a few minutes long, when I can feel myself sinking into the bed, into my own perfectly molded place in the universe.  The phrase that most readily comes to mind is "earthward urging."  The first time I heard this phrase was in a book somewhere, talking about the way corpses have a more earthward urging where they lay than someone just sleeping.  The first time I saw this in real life, or real death to be exact, was with a pet cat that had died.  He was laying completely flat on the floor.  So flat it was as though he had taken root, and was coming out from the earth.
The French refer to orgasm as the 'little death'.   In post coital bliss it is easy to understand.   I lay in my perfect spot in the universe, numb and dreamy, feeling as though I might take root in the mattress, a part of the earth, drifting in and out of consciousness.  It's what I imagine a pleasant death  might feel like.  I had the pleasure of being near death at 16.  I was in extreme pain, the doctors had me flying on opiates and I was in and out of consciousness in the back of the ambulance.  Every time I slipped away I could hear the  conversations around me, and as I slipped deeper, the conversation would morph into a dream and I was lost in a delicious warm state of dreamy half consciousness;  bits of the movements of the ambulance,  the medics talking amalgamating into the dream. 

My sister died yesterday.  Not sure where she is right now, most likely on a cold steel morticians table, a drawer in a morgue, don't know.  She did die in her bed though, and I imagine as she lay dying it was a bit like post coital bliss, giving into that earthward urging, feeling that beautiful release.  It got me thinking about consciousness after death.  I wondered does consciousness leave us immediately, or does it stay with our bodies for a time as they decompose and recompose.  I imagined it was the latter.  6 feet under, a warm dreamy state that's vaguely aware we are dead.  As we are decomposing our consciousness dreams happily away, amalgamating reality here and there.  A worm crawls in and gorges itself, and takes a part of our  consciousness with it, and it seems we are dreaming of becoming worm  parts of us decompose into the soils, feeding bugs and plants.  Our primary consciousness knows this is all happening, and perhaps we dream we are the worm or we are the bug, and the truth is we are. Bits and pieces of our consciousness melding with the circle of life, with each organic reassignment forgetting a little more of the human life we had.  Eventually the meat of us is gone, devoured and rotten, all the energy that was us dreaming flashes of our lives, mingling with the new for a stitch in time.