How can this be? Surely, upon death, you do not simply lose your identity? No scripture, no philosophy, teaches that. "I think, therefore I am," no? How then, can you think—can you be—and yet not recall your name?
A car approaches. You stand in the road and wave for it to stop. It does not slow, does not deviate from its course. You yell out as it draws near, shouting for help. Still, it does not slow. And as it passes you, you cannot see your own reflection in its darkened windows.
A set of traffic lights hangs above your head. And though there are no more cars around, it switches at a leisurely pace from green to yellow to red. You approach the metal pole from which it is suspended, and you hold out your hand.
Your fingers pass clean through it. You cannot touch it. You cannot feel it.