After the funeral
back at the house,
adults gathered talking
in hushed platitudes.

While wandering the house
I looked out the window.
There she was, on the front lawn
by the blue hydrangea.

Rising from the ground
like an apparition...

GRANDMA!

She is the last person
I know
who went to heaven.

(little Peter, age 6)

We are born without memory of whom we once were.
We are born exposed to the elements and incoherent whispers.
We are stripped of our power, if we had any before;
doomed to live life again chore by chore.

Why ask 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦?
when there is a better question to be asked.
𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥?
The afterlife is said to be so tranquil, so at ease, so overwhelmingly free.
But perhaps that's all a hyperbole?

Maybe the afterlife is chilling,
maybe we are confined to be alone.
Maybe there is nothing there,
just us floating in the abyss
without even a thought of home.

Or maybe until the day arrives where you're offered a choice.
Do you stick around for nothing or regain your voice.
If you say 𝘺𝘦𝘴, then you're off into the light.
If you choose to live again, you could make this one right.

Maybe we continue to mess up and never learn from our mistakes.
Perhaps death comes at a time where our creator thinks we need a break.
Maybe dying to just be reborn is a second chance, a second take.
Maybe each time we live, we learn, and then truly awake.

Maybe this life that we continue to live and relive is a test
and in order to reach the true afterlife we have to achieve our best.
So maybe we'll continue to live until we become like our creator.
And if we never learn, maybe we're stuck in this world;
to relapse, forget, repeat, not doing our own self a favor.

I'd love to sit beneath the cherry blossom tree
Although, someone else resides below
Their spirit will hold it forever

The grass I sit on is fertilized
by hundreds of human bodies
What is going on underneath?
Do the spirits dance, drink?
Celebrate their freedom?