Wednesday, February 21, 2018


So I died a few minutes ago,
and I’m not really sure what to do now?
I had been lying on a small white bed,
inclined slightly
in a dimly lit hospital room.
A whiteboard once had “recovery goals” written on it,
and those were now erased.
“Pain free” were the only words that remained.
A machine that had once been beeping rapidly
now pinged slowly and sporadically.
Someone gripped my thin, cold hand.
I don’t remember if it was someone I had loved
or a kind nurse or a priest.
I shuddered,
and I closed my eyes for just a moment.
A blink,
and now I’m here.
Miles and miles away, I think.
I don’t know where I am.
I don’t really know who I am
or if anyone can see me.

I am standing on a hill above a vast green field.
The land is a quilt made of emerald, gold, shamrock and sage-colored patches.
Clusters of trees dot the landscape.
I can see a long, low wall fashioned of round gray stones far in the distance.
A few muddy white sheep are grazing nearby,
indifferent to my presence or non-presence.
I would guess this was Heaven,
except it’s kind of cold and rainy.
It’s beautiful,
if you’re not a city person or a beach person.
No mountains or anything,
but it’s fine.
I take a few tentative steps.
Am I in Yorkshire?  Or Wisconsin?
This grassy people-less landscape stretches as far as I can see.
There are dark gray threatening clouds above.
Raindrops are streaming down my face.
Can’t see through my glasses.
Do I still need my glasses?
Yes.  Yes, I do.
I find a winding dirt path that stretches clear to the horizon
and have no choice but to follow it.

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