It wasn't the same as living, but it was better than
being dead. Most of us don't remember our past lives
or know what our future will hold. All we know is that
we are here, now. Where is here? Earth-- after.
After the flesh disappeared. I remember being dead. A
quiet, lonely state. Peaceful, without excitement. A
solid blackness. I don't know how long I was there,
but I remember being there, and I remember a sadness.
Odd. I know how the scientist would think- chemical
reactions of the brain-- ceased, so how can I still
feel and think? I'm a skeletal outline. None of my
flesh existence remains, yet I feel emotions and think
as if I were alive.
My desires are different then before, I think. I have
a desire to know. We all do. What happened? Why are we
here? Not even the oldest of us can answer that. They
woke to the same world we did. There is no pain. Our
bones are strong and not even the weight of a two-ton
car can crack them. Yes, it's been tried. Many things
have been tried. None have succeeded in breaking or
separating them yet.
The weather continues to rain, snow, and shine down on
us. We use homes and benches, bikes and skates, cars
and computers. These things are familiar, comforting
in a strange world that we once knew so well, or
thought we did. Some of us even remember family who
are here. I don't know where mine is, nor do I
remember them.
There is one place I go every day at sunset. It's past
the lake, beyond the sloping green hills that no
longer have insects or animals, just on the other side
of a large gray boulder. There's a field there.
Wildflowers still blooming without the bees.
It is peaceful there. It reminds me of death and life
at the same time, a union of the two. There is
something else there. A stairway carved into the hill
beside the boulder. White marble, smooth and worn. It
is long, winding, and goes to the top, overlooking a
ravine, a jumping off place.
Countless times I've climbed it, examined the steps,
and yes, even jumped down into the ravine to see what
would happen. I feel sensations as I step off the
final stair- excitement and joy, then sorrow and
disappointment as my flight takes a downward spiral
into the cushioning earth below. Always I rise,
uninjured except at the core of my being, where
scientifically inexplicable emotions reign.
There's something about that stairway that draws me to
it; something I don't quite understand. I think I was
a scientist in my past life, and I think I was happy.
I am happy here, or content at least, especially in
this field. But my desire to know tells me that I lack
at the core. And that something has to do with this
stairway.
I think I'll go to the top of the stairway again
today; my morbid muse encourages me to keep trying. To
do what? I'm not sure. Maybe the muse thinks I can
fly. I don't know. Someday the answer will come to me.
Someday I will discover the stairway's purpose. But
for today I will listen to my muse. Who knows? Maybe
this time I will find my answers. Maybe this time I
will not fall.
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