Today, I attended a book tour. But not any book tour. This book was a self-help book for being dead. And of course, everyone attending the tour was dead, so it stood to reason that I myself was also dead. It was interesting, being dead and -presumably- a ghost. You were in your own world, doing your own things -yet you could still see the world of the living superimposed onto vision, like the reflection of someone else's tv onto your window. You wanted to shake your head to rid yourself of the sight, but somehow you never could. But you never wanted to look too far into the world of the living either. I learned that the hard way.
One stop on the book tour was at a museum. I suppose they thought it would be comforting for those who had been around a long time, but I just didn't want to be there. I convinced a friend to leave with me, and we both ditched. We separated immediatly after, and each went our separate ways. I don't know what happened to her in that time; I'm not sure I want to know.
But I wanted to look in on people, I wanted what I had been missing. It was so easy to travel, so wonderful to fly above the rooftops -I should have known then that I had paid a price that I couldn't even guess. Eventually, though, I saw a fire in the grate of one family. I loved fires, and always had; maybe that's why I was so attracted to this place. I went to the window and tried to get through -after all, solid had proved to be barely a hinderence to me.
I couldn't get in. I don't know if it was the fact that it was the personal home of someone -maybe I had to be invited in, like a vampire. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the family created an aura that I couldn't break through. Or maybe the dog I had seen protected the family in more ways than they knew -it certainly watched me enough for me to know I knew it was there. Any way, the fact remained that I couldn't get in, and I was forced to watch from my spot on the window sill. And as I stared in, I stoped seeing the family; all I saw was my own. That dog, it was my own dog. The child was my brother, my sister. My parents were there, in unfamiliar bodies; as were my grandparents, aunts uncles, cousins. My friends were there. But I couldn't get it. And I wept, clawing at window, yet knowing they would never again see me. I wished I was given the same fate.
Eventually I made it back to the tour, still sobbing. My friend arrived too, and in a similar state. I couldn't help but think she'd had an experience similar to mine. But she wasn't the only one; sorrow was in every face. Every eye had known tears for what they had lost, every mouth had trembled at the thought of never seeing their loved ones gone forever. And we could not change, we could not move on. We would stay like this for eternity. I found out today what death is. Death is sorrow, and only in life can there be joy.
When there is life, there is still joy. Find it!!! Don't ever throw it away.