Thoughts

After we die, do we ponder our lives as if they were dreams from which we have just awakened? Or do we forget them as quickly as we once forgot our dreams? What happens if we don't show up for an important dream? Is that like not showing up for an important class? And when we die, what then? Do we stop dreaming? Or do we make guest appearances in other dreams? Does God blame me for laughing when I should have been crying; for wanting to kiss a boy and live forever; for hoping I could find happiness by some well-traveled route? Apparently, we know that I will never stop questioning some of the oddest things. But these are the questions that haunt me, that keep me awake at night. No, I don't know how to stop them. Sometimes I even thinks its healthy. I am not worried about any of these things, I just question them like I question why I feel, or sing or even run.
I leave you with this last poem:
A cloudy, dreary day, sick with a cold, yet I want to mark the say, the year, to settle old accounts and begin something anew. It is what I am always up to, and I see how foolish it is, and how necessary. I can no more draw a line between yesterday and today than I can continue without one. The weight of the days is too great. The spirit needs to release. And so, a new year, a new longing no, rather the oldest to be different, to be better. I yearn for the end of attachment, and, with barely a pause, I am already dreaming of a more beautiful body, a more elegant mind, a self better able to receive, and give love. I ignore the only wisdom of my years: that I need only accept myself. And I forget that time is but one eternal moment in which we are created, in the timeless mind of God.