What happens when we shuffle off this mortal coil?
Why do we ignore this question? Act like it doesn't matter? Or it doesn't affect us?
It has been bumping around in my mind since I was a very little girl, jostling with questions like: "Who am I?", "What is life?", "What is real?". The questions themselves have become a part of me, they have shaped the lens through which I peer out at the world, baffled by a flower and the inherent wisdom in every seed that gives rise to its bloom, astonished by a sunrise or a sonnet or a laugh. It's as if the whole of life is dancing in miracles and I, imagining myself separate, am deaf to the tune. My Grande is gone and yet, sometimes, I hear the music and the gentle sway of life and I feel her love wrap around me and the sure sounds of her laughter. Perhaps the truest gift I can give to this moment is the honest assertion that Life is. Whether I understand it or not. Life is.
Why do we ignore this question? Act like it doesn't matter? Or it doesn't affect us?
It has been bumping around in my mind since I was a very little girl, jostling with questions like: "Who am I?", "What is life?", "What is real?". The questions themselves have become a part of me, they have shaped the lens through which I peer out at the world, baffled by a flower and the inherent wisdom in every seed that gives rise to its bloom, astonished by a sunrise or a sonnet or a laugh. It's as if the whole of life is dancing in miracles and I, imagining myself separate, am deaf to the tune. My Grande is gone and yet, sometimes, I hear the music and the gentle sway of life and I feel her love wrap around me and the sure sounds of her laughter. Perhaps the truest gift I can give to this moment is the honest assertion that Life is. Whether I understand it or not. Life is.
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