AT HEAVEN’S GATE

What do you really hope for

after death pulls the shade

on you?  To remember?

How we value our consciousness,

our me-ness!

Perhaps we re-emerge with the womb.

Would that be progress?

Who said anything about progress?

Was it AmWay?

Were we meant to always

be separate?

What does meant mean, anyway?

I wouldn’t opt for hell, but not to

be disrespectful I don’t want to be

dandled on another father’s knee

forever, either. (What a mouthful, “forever.”)

Do I really want to be alone forever?

(Just not with some people, I guess.)

While I don’t want Groundhog Day

every lifetime, is it all downhill

after this?  Back to an atom after

Beethoven?

I won’t care any more. They say I’d better

“let go” or stay on as a ghost.

Dust to dust.  Hey! I’m in here!

Like sleeping, they say.  But no dreaming?

What do you want to dream about forever?

The past? The future? The eternal now?

Maybe we’ll lightly settle on a higher plain.

(Higher than what? Lower than what?)

A small voice inside says, “Hey.

I want outta here.”  But not really.

If I really had my druthers

I would like to be welcomed back by

those many lives who have shared my

soul in ages past, to embrace and

melt into a reunion, at long last

home again, for now.

   Nan  Mykel   2015