Becoming a story
When I become a story will I collect my regrets and exhale them into the universe for others to chip away at the mountains of expectations I had for myself based on what I thought you’d desire of my life?
Will my last thoughts will be clouded by what I could profoundly bestow upon someone else to pass the tradition of expectation along to the next generation of oppressed intellect surprised by emotions, this is why there are no words?
Is there an awakening, or peace, on the other side of life? Maybe death is a new chapter in our story that lives on in the breath of others. Or maybe we are constrained by the thoughts of others. Either way it’s a new existence. A rebirth
So what of the souls that leave this plane of existence alone? No one to pass along parts or pieces of their memories to someone who cares enough to speak their name or ponder a time when memories flowed with blood and laughter taking a moment to bring their story just short of life.
Are these lost souls reunited through the stories of others long gone, or left mourning? Are they rejoiced as characters in the memories or breath of others? Maybe souls can’t be lost. Maybe in the chain of death we’re all linked together and no one truly dies alone. It would seem we are all connected once we have breathed the same air or shared the same thoughts on either side of this world.
I often wonder if that last breath reveals the secrets of life. Or if it’s like birth and the trauma protects us through stages until we’re mature enough to handle being gone? It seems death is as much of an adventure as life.
Surely there’s more than just dust on the other side. It could be a cruel version of Egyptian afterlife where we get a glimpse of life every time we’re remembered or our name is spoken. Maybe that’s it, we’re relegated to a thought or breath in the lives of others. We no longer have an existence outside the hearts still beating that remember us.
Are we our stories? Is that what it comes down to. All those heartbeats and breaths add up to thoughts in the memories of others. Well that maybe the answer. That could be the importance of a life well lived. Maybe a life we’ll lived is a death well received.
The importance of kind thoughts and good deeds; is it that simple? Heaven and hell are really choices and it’s as simple as regret and handing your heart and soul to the idea that we’re all beautiful in some way that will weigh more than our evil nature. Or when we look back, down, or up will we see humanity in a way that releases us from the expectations of living souls.
I’ve accepted the eternal question can only be answered in eternity. I live in the finite phase of life. It’s not a matter of doing things “just in case”. It’s not about a destination, or next life. It’s always been about now and I wish we would be born with the importance of now, instead of yesterday and tomorrow framing our life to the degree we’re often blind to the beauty of a single breath exhaling a beautiful thought in the form of a kind word.
chrysalaneous 