Life Is Death and Death Is Life

This is death; we are all dead. Deceased. Living half-lives or worse. We ae zombies, sitting at screens, we have forgotten to love each other. Here is the grim reaper now, to take us to life. No thanks, we say, thinking death is real. Our soul knows better, but we have not heard her for years. This is death; being alive means supposedly “dying”. Oh, they have passed, someone says, as if dying is a bad thing. Dying is life, dying is living. Dying is being ALIVE. DYING is returning HOME. My relatives are empaths, psychics, and soothsayers. We know about death. This earth “life” is death. Releasing the soul only at night. Being confined to this tight body. Death is the end, some say. Not realizing it is the beginning. Death is sad, some want to think. Sobbing for attention. I know better. We are empaths and psychics. We see each other more clearly after a supposed “death”. Others death is my "life". My father appears whenever he wants to – so much for “death”. My mother calls us on her disconnected landline and some say she is deceased! My mother-in-law slams the kitchen cupboards – death? Not really. My father-in-law smokes, until I beg him to stop because I am an asthmatic. Earth’s life is death. I am an asthmatic here. In heaven, I am not.