After the pain of the human body, silence arrives, not good, not bad, just without noise, without splendid glory, filled with unfinished thoughts of those who loved or were loved.
Crossing through an amorphous gate, their material vessels vanish slowly in the rotting smell, inevitable deconstruction in the same irreversible order.
The red liquid comes back to the primordial elements, to Earth, to Air, to Void, everything and nothing.
We who are still breathing, create new interpretations to be more distant than close to the elusive insight.
Clearing our space we put various convictions in our grief drawer, suffering, looking for consolationβ against the final revelation.
The cosmic conscious dust returns to the circle of life. Does it matter what comes after? Just stay now, open your arms, embrace a tender emptiness.