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Feb 19

Bury Me Close

I have always loved the beauty of the old cemetery;  the serene air floats over those that have left this earthy world, showcasing lovingly placed flowers and mementos in remembrance of the missing pieces of their hearts. Some of the mounds sit in full sun, and others are shaded by a tree unhindered now by heat or any irritations. Looking over the grounds I would think that those left living, as I always do, feel  vulnerable here, trying to grasp the brevity of our time here and the sadness that accompanies the miracle that is life.

I have always thought this is where I want to be. Even though it is said that your spirit leaves the body, I believe that where dust turns to dust is significant. I would like to believe there is something in that soul that continues to remain for our Earthly companions and the soul is fed still, unconsciously, by what life was, as a reminder:  Yes, I was here. I related to the world, I was part of all this, I belonged to the earth.

Since energy does not die, perhaps it is the sounds that remain intact for us to remember our journey. Wishful thinking?  Most probably so. But it is my dream to be connected to the life sounds that have always lulled the hum of humanism in me. To sit at night without the regular beat of activity in the house, one can hear for miles.

So bury me close to the hum of life.

Photographer: Rantes

The sounds of the crickets and frogs, the sounds of children. The trains that rattle us and the sounds of fireworks. The grief, the sadness, the joys, and surprises.
Think about what it would mean if we could choose what our spirits could participate in after death. Have you ever had someone softly sing you to sleep?  It feels like a soothing touch. Have you  heard another grieving the loss of a loved one?  Your heart feels heavy. They say that seeing is believing, but I say that hearing is feeling, if only you listen close enough.

From these thoughts, I want to be in the middle of it all. I still will want to be connected to the old life. No matter what comes after, I cannot convince myself that I won’t want to know. I will.

Life is not insignificant in the scheme of things.  Whether or not we sprouted from one big event does not matter. We are more than that now. We have evolved. Stephen Hawking has said that time travel could one day become possible.  If  so, I never want to be too far away from the sounds of my life. The sound of angels may be sweet, but no sweeter than the sound of my husband’s warm voice comforting  me, or of the little voice of my granddaughter talking to herself while playing.  The emotions I feel at a child’s distress, a siren blaring, or a glass shattering, I want to take with me. Good or bad, I want to retain that.

When I die, and die I must, bury me without the beat of my heart but understand that the beat in my ears will be straining to hear. Just as the breathing of a puppy on your chest comforts us, so will the beat of the Earth in my rest. I may be wrong, but I feel what I feel. Let me find comfort in the idea that I can still remain connected to what I once was.

So bury me close to the hum of life.

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