Now that I’m dead, I want to tell you a few things.
I have only been beyond for a few weeks. The earth first received my dry ashes. It drank the mineral tonic I became in a mountain rainstorm. Minuscule stems then raised me to sunlight before snow covered all with sleep. There, I dream. No allegories or archetypes give shape to these dreams. They are made of what I could not trick or wrestle my mind to see, and are now clear.
From this rest in the sweet mulch of pines I see: The world that people make amongst themselves, especially in cities, is too much a decoction of human deeds. Like beings committed only to sleeping or waking, people who live only in places they’ve constructed will be shadows of themselves.
You will need nourishment.
Go to places where natural objects have their own lives, to where beings blink without a care for what blinking means. Go to where landscapes give you breath and stillness. Stay a long time. Make your noise and exert your body, on the water, over rocks, in the forest. The world you’ve been given and the world you’ve made can fade. You will remember yourself and your home–that you belong to serene joy.