Life is ending. You know it. The room becomes foggy and dimmer and all voices become whispers and in awhile there will be silence.
You are standing on a stone cleft at the edge of a mountain and there you jump off.
You touch your toes as in a beautiful swan dive and it’s the best you’ve ever done. Perfected movements.
All alone, free at last, then you realize that you’re falling instead of diving.
The freedom you thought was yours is vague and illusive.
You hear. Is there a baby crying? Hey wait a moment, I was just falling and this … again?
Wait! I’m an infant? A falling child. I mean, that’s how I entered this life… falling.
So, I struggle. Forgetting my last birth and death, in this new place. I’m always running from something.
When older it’s always, In and out of stores, I go. Never committing to anyone or anything, I run and as I whist from place to place, I trip and stumble.
And then one day, while I gained the lead on the fellas after a calamity of sorts, an accident occurred. Lazily, I found myself asleep.
From that pillow, I slowly awakened.
There I am, laying on a cloud. It was white and fluffy with air. I drifted through the transparency of moisture, sprinkles and then sunshine into a room.
There in that room was a baby crying. And I am a ray of light.