I can imagine castles in the air and kingdoms under the sea. I can picture a phoenix rising from an ashy fire or elves riding crickets on the forest floor. I cann imagine a thousand fanciful things better than I can imagine my own death.

I've always seen the world only through my own eyes, comprehended it with my own mind, loved it with my own heart. How can I conceive of the world without me in it? So I persist in my illusion that I will always be here. I struggle not only with a fear of death, but the fact that my death seems so unreal. I suspect that most of you are much like me.

In the midst of our illusory immortality, Ash Wednesday traces the warning right on my forehead and my soul, yours too: "Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return."

What if we were really to tak…