Six feet under

Today we bury a man whose life was fully lived. Some of our strong men lift his earthly remains and lay it six feet beneath the snowy ground.
Today I wonder what ancient men and women must have thought about this death thing. Today I wonder about what the life cycle meant to them-- before there was this complex, overdeveloped modern world. When only the raw earth supported our ancestors' feet and only the luminous sky lifted their simple vision beyond its horizon, then the cold ground was simply where life sprung forth and also where it terminated-- the air above us just a vast mystery from which rain and snow and wind and light descended.

In that primeval existence, before history, before culture, before science and education, humans had no knowledge about where all this came from. We had no evidences, except those found within the earth itself, of our destiny within it. We had only a few clues nestled within the crevices of our desire; we had only a scattering of hope blown among the breezes of our vision.

Then one day, they saw a volcano erupt.
What on earth is that? they wondered.
Hell, I don't know, but I'm not hangin' around to find out.

Hell.

Another day, they saw a rainbow.
What on earth is that? they wondered.
Heavens above! what a beautiful sight.

Heavens.

Somebody died. Where do we put him now?

Back in the earth where he came from, said one.
He didn't come from the earth; he came from the sky, said another.

Oh yeah? Well...ok then. He came from the sky.
I like that ending better, they said.

We put him in the earth; but he returns to the sky.

And they were right.

You believe that?

Jeez... I guess so.

Well...ok then. That's quite a revalation.
A revolution, in fact.

Glass half-Full