cradle and coffin

My old quilt of a mind spreads out delicately like a bridal train. Gently now. Lightly. One thought, then another, sinking into the tender patch of presence. The earth is a cradle and I bed down gingerly into it. It’s also a coffin, but not for me today, far as I know. 

Expired leaves spin effortlessly from above to below. They can be mistaken for butterflies at first glance. All life springs up from the dirt then eventually returns to it. Cradle to coffin a thousand times over. But yet, just once for every living thing. Just one life. 

There’s birds of prey looming overhead yet I am not their victim.  They’re making rings around the rosie, but I’m of the living. No bones to pick, here; I have nothing for you.

I once saw a wake of vultures in a burned-out forest clearing. They swarmed like flies over charred debris. I think it eerie that it’s called a wake, where we gather over the remains of the dead.

But, today is for the living. For those of us whom require air, and water, and light. And I cast a weighted net into all of it, hoping to catch something to nourish me. I close my eyes to see shadows dancing on the other side of my lids. Drawing the curtains in order to view, I still see the birds circling, the leaves free falling to their end. 

Slumber is just a veil and death is just a momentary slumber. One day I’ll open my eyes wider than this world and I’ll be turned right inside out. I’ll behold, as it truly is—no shadows or perishing, no predators or victims. Just brilliance. Marvelous and magnificent brilliance. 

The sun is now blinding me even with eyes sealed shut. The wind is swaying me away like one of those fallen leaves. I open my mouth to drink deeply of the moment here as provision. I taste it rich and filling. I’m laden with life and all the trappings of such. My net is full. I partake in the land of the living yet another day.