Transitioning to the other side of life some people call death is a subject of so many unknowns.
On the seventh of February one Beloved left. On the tenth of March, her husband of nearly thirty years went to be with her.
She made her joy known by making a stunning rainbow in mostly pink shades around her daughter.
He played his favourite song, Over the Rainbow, just as his daughter turned on the radio.
The arrogant and ignorant and self-opinionated may use that word made for such events: Coincidence.
People ask me what are my thoughts on this thing called Transition, or more coarsely, death.
I ask them to show me Where, please, Where is this thing called death? I ask them also to tell me When?.
Many ancients speak that the death, the true death is when we, me, maybe you, are born into a physical body, on this planet called Earth. We are then so disconnected from the Liberties of spirit that it is a kind of death.
I wonder and question the terminology: death equals gone, never more, kaput. But those are false, as in liars, liars, pants on fire-ars.
We, on beautiful Planet Earth, as it circles the Sun as they Spiral through the Universe, have no new anything. No new birth of anything either.
The air is the same as Cleopatra’s air. The water is the same (albeit more polluted). Mountains have sunk. Mountains have risen. We circle the same Sun. We share with the same other planets.
No thing is new. Every thing is changed. moment to moment. Yet not ever new.