Some idea of the meaning of such compression can be gained even
from a study of the subjective effect of ordinary emotions. For whereas
the logical mind perceives ideas and experiences only in succession, the
emotions make possible the reception of ideas and experiences
simultaneously. One suddenly sees a near friend or a child weeping:
instantly and simultaneously there pass through one's emotional
perception a hundred memories of cruelties inflicted, irreparable losses,
bitter insults, all combined with the sensation of one's own fault or of
someone else's fault and again with images of compassion and
tenderness drawn from scripture, art, the lives of saints or even from
parents or others in one's own circle. If the emotional reaction is
sufficiently strong all these memories may instantaneously combine to produce an almost
overwhelming sensation of pity, indignation, poignancy and fear.


Now if some dozens or hundreds of images perceived together by
ordinary emotion yield such effect, what would be the effect of a
lifetime of billions of images compressed into an hour, a minute or a
second? We can only say that if the life had been filled with pleasant
emotions, pleasant encounters, pleasant impressions of people and
nature, apprehensions of truth, discoveries of natural law, creative
work, affection, courage, honesty and so on, the effect of such
compression would be ecstatic beyond imagination. If, on the other
hand, the life had been filled with the infliction of cruelty, the
enjoyment of others' suffering, or with endless fears, worries, lies,
obsessions, meannesses and betrayals, the effect of the compression of
these images would be terrible beyond any hell describable by man.


To live one's life in forty minutes would mean that all perceptions
and feelings would be compressed or heightened a millionfold. 'The
bitterness of pain that we now feel in one hour seemeth as great as all
the sorrows of the passing world in a hundred years', as the dying cry
in the mediaeval 'Orologium Sapientiae'.* The hates of years would be
compressed into the hate of minutes, but a million times more intense;
the joys of aspiration, of discovery, of affection, heightened a
millionfold, would become god-like ecstasies.

To live one's life in forty minutes would mean that all perceptions
and feelings would be compressed or heightened a millionfold. 'The
bitterness of pain that we now feel in one hour seemeth as great as all
the sorrows of the passing world in a hundred years', as the dying cry
in the mediaeval 'Orologium Sapientiae'.* The hates of years would be
compressed into the hate of minutes, but a million times more intense;
the joys of aspiration, of discovery, of affection, heightened a
millionfold, would become god-like ecstasies.

In the afterlife you relive all your experiences, but this time with the events reshuffled into a new order: all the moments that share a quality are grouped together.

You spend two months driving the street in front of your house, seven months having sex. You sleep for thirty years without opening your eyes. For five months straight you flip through magazines while sitting on a toilet.

You take all your pain at once, all twenty-seven intense hours of it. Bones break, cars crash, skin is cut, babies are born. Once you make it through, it’s agony-free for the rest of your afterlife.

But that doesn’t mean it’s always pleasant. You spend six days clipping your nails. Fifteen months looking for lost items. Eighteen months waiting in line. Two years of boredom: staring out a bus window, sitting in an airport terminal. One year reading books. Your eyes hurt, and you itch, because you can’t take a shower until it’s your time to take your marathon two-hundred-day shower. Two weeks wondering what happens when you die. One minute realizing your body is falling. Seventy-seven hours of confusion. One hour realizing you’ve forgotten someone’s name. Three weeks realizing you are wrong. Two days lying. Six weeks waiting for a green light. Seven hours vomiting. Fourteen minutes experiencing pure joy. Three months doing laundry.

Fifteen hours writing your signature. Two days tying shoelaces. Sixty-seven days of heartbreak. Five weeks driving lost. Three days calculating restaurant tips. Fifty-one days deciding what to wear. Nine days pretending you know what is being talked about. Two weeks counting money. Eighteen days staring into the refrigerator. Thirty-four days longing. Six months watching commercials. Four weeks sitting in thought, wondering if there is something better you could be doing with your time. Three years swallowing food. Five days working buttons and zippers.

Four minutes wondering what your life would be like if you reshuffled the order of events. In this part of the afterlife, you imagine something analogous to your Earthly life, and the thought is blissful: a life where episodes are split into tiny swallowable pieces, where moments do not endure, where one experiences the joy of jumping from one event to the next like a child hopping from spot to spot on the burning sand.