There’s always a lot of s**t going on in this world that we don’t understand and, like most of the existential questions that humankind has wrestled with since we could communicate, we may never do until we die.  If there isn’t anything after we shift our mortal coil, then it won’t matter anyway. We’ll be either worm fodder in a decomposing box somewhere for insects to chew on or ashes to the skies from a chimney stack. The physical trace will be recycled and any messages from our souls may never reach us, and no one (like now) will be any the wiser. I like to think that there is something after we pass away, whatever it is.