The creek bed has dried up, and the ferns surrounding it are all turning brown. The cattails have all burst open, and most of the grass has lost its color and turned to straw. Everything is dying now, but there won’t be any funerals. There won’t be any somber processions of dark-colored cars and ladies in black veils. There will be no tears. No one will regretfully pat another person on the back while lamenting the past.
|The end is near.|
Instead, there will be a celebration! The trees will put on their finest gowns, and the grasses will comb their beautiful blonde hair and sway in the scented winds. Good food will fill platters in swollen abundance, and the aroma of parties and plenty will be in the air. People will run about in fields and go for hayrides. There will be costume balls and bonfires and secret rendezvous in the night.
After all, what is there to mourn? Death? What fools we humans are not to see the joyous rapture of death all around us in nature, which we ourselves celebrate without realizing it! There are no funerals and no sorrow in nature because death is a dream. It’s just a doorway, a transition into the next thing. We can see it so easily with the changing trees and the dying grasses and the soon-to-be frozen landscape. And we know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it will all come back in its time for another round of celebrating, another round of life. Why should we think that it is any different for us?