It probably doesn’t matter.
A bloke does his best in the time he’s allotted and at some stage all he can manage is to repeat the beliefs of his youth.
Yet some of us somehow managed to make an impression.
Peter Seeger was one who through his music – most definitely made an impression.
More importantly – just by hanging in there – he outlasted some incredibly pompous bastards by more than a few years.
So when Pete struts through his particular edition of the pearly gates I sincerely trust that some voluptuous valkyrie will hand him a set of binoculars so he can look down on the likes of Churchill burning below, in his own hell.
But no. That isn’t his style.
And neither would Winston put up with such an overview – whatever hell he has had to endure since dropping off the perch.
So what is the score for us all at the end of creation?
Each of us finally has to die.
Another way of looking at that situation is that the entire bloody multiverse is extinguished at exactly the same time we choose to depart the mortal coil.
Can you comprehend that?
What does a bloke take away from us when he dies?
Why would a fellow bust his gut to leave something of himself behind?
Know what I mean – like Seeger the muso – Churchill, the ratbag politico – and so many others outside the square.
How few of us leave anything of ourselves and our nature for posterity.
How so few of us comprehend that we are able and that therefore we can.