This poem is yet another view of man's mortality. This one gelled
in my mind on a one hour flight coming back from a friend's funeral-
a celebration of his life. All of us had attended a few funerals. And we can
all safely say there is the sad and happy part, the burial takes place
after a religious ceremony and the celebration follows. Man's mortality
begins at birth and ends at death, so we hear. But the unyielding feeling
of connection is so strong that we just unconsciously, routinely "celebrate"
a dead person's life as if he is alive among us, there to enjoy his company.
Without us believing it seriously he could actually be with us celebrating
his life, now immortal, his soul rises Phoenix-wise "to start a new cycle
of dust to dust" and be mortal again.
Nelson D Reyesalrededor de 5 años
Thank you Brod. Earlier today, actually yesterday, I read in the net
about the 49 black birds that flew over the site where a memorial was
being held for the 49 innocent beautiful people who fell in that act of
senselessness the other day. Nobody knows where the birds came from
or where they were headed. A "wave" in the sky? A halo, maybe?