A Poem about Some Rebirth

They say that Much ado is said about No-Thing

And the Reaper, too much is said about Him, about Her

You see, the funny thing about Death, in order to live

We must feel his embrace, taste her kisses

For it is Death that guards the entrance of the Path

To the Stairway of Heaven that takes One up the Mountain of the Lord

Fear not, Archangel Michael, awaits, arms awide

And amidst it All truly, madly, deeply…

You will find, Life amongst Death for to Die is to be Reborn

And Arise from the ashes they say of the Phoenix

And to walk with Death, not as enemy, but as Friend, as Lover

For it is Death, in every moment, in every experience, in every body,

That shall truly set One free…

The Buddha came first and off he went to kill suffering.

Jesus was second, in recorded fashion, and his Death opened the connection.

The Prophet of Islam came along and it was he who saw the value in submitting to the Path.

And many others, countless others have walked the Path, up the Mountain of the Lord

In their fields, in their traditions.

And they all died, many deaths…

We are not afraid of Death.

No, no.

We are afraid to truly Live.

In order to be alive.

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