From what I have seen of life and death, it is no joke. If you are lucky or unlucky enough, according to how you look at it, to be born there is only one way out once you are here. The way out is in a box. Upon your death, you are put into a box, which is then surrounded by concrete as thick as your wrist. So, as I see it, there is no possibility to escape the confines of this death. In the old antique cemeteries, which are my passion, you can see the earth’s upheaval, cracks, loose stones, showing a means of escape. I visited my good friend’s gravesite in a state where they do not require all of the cement encasings and sure enough, I saw evidence that she had escaped and I was so happy for her; so unhappy that I am earmarked for encasement.
Going back to the box. You exit in your box. Your clothes, toiletries, shoes, belts, purses, wallets, trinkets, kitchen items, garden tools, jewels, your computer, phones, papers, letters, sentimental cards, artwork, furniture, plus all the bits and pieces of your life get packed and exit in other boxes. Everything you are using, everything surrounding your life inside and outside in the yards, patios and garages, all get put into boxes and then, you exit many, many times. Your exits are as many as the boxes you have created. This morning, all of the items used during the preparations I made for the day I saw in boxes. There was a mythically, meditated box filled before I even got dressed. Just remember on occasions that you are pretty much just a box and perhaps you can understand your strivings a bit better when you see your boxes as exits. Escape here and now.
I am setting out to get my boxes in order. If I can streamline them now, it will be an easier egress for myself and for those I leave behind.
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