I can imagine a life
after this one,
in which I am the same,
but different.
I can sense the timelessness of
Being-
the possibility of not ending,
of becoming a long vista of compassionate quietude,
of hearing every Moment
as it arises with simple clarity:
because Love is a seashell
placed over the Heart.

but I can’t remember beginning
or being born
or ever having been anyone else.

Somewhere,
along this way,
the being I am today
appeared.  (And now,
is Dissolving
without Ending.)

When I think of Jesus,
His Presence arises within me…
He is recognizable, unmistakable,
a unique color of the heart.
The same may be said for
many beings we know- a departed aunt,
a deceased friend,
the Buddha, Walter Russell,
Mary, Harriet Tubman.
We each have a color
in the palette of
Endlessness.

Somewhere,
along this way,
Harriet Tubman became herself,
and now,
she will never stop…

Something keeps
Beginning-
keeps Becoming.
It seems as though
there will always
be more of us-
as if we never grow
tired
of the
Dress-Up
Games.

Are we not the same?
But different?