…of a feather 

My Cardinal came to visit. His lady friend wasn’t with him on this cold, rainy, morning. The window is open and the chill in the air is the perfect complement to the sound of rainfall. 

They say that Cardinals are loved ones who’ve passed on, come to visit. That’s real sweet and all, but I’d much rather the dead keep to their own. There is a Heaven and Hell already created just for them. Both places are vast and eternal, leading me to imagine that there’s plenty of room for them to wander around without imposing unwanted memories on the living. 

Death is surrounded by so much mystery. As long as humans have existed, we’ve spent our time trying to justify it…to understand it. Life is finite. What is there to understand? Yes, I believe there are spiritual dimensions where our souls go upon physical death. However, were the living and dead meant to mix, there would be no veil between the two.

When I was young, I spent countless hours conjuring and doing things taught to me by my grandmother, all meant to manipulate via those things that dwell on the other side. I reaped all Hell for it, too. I’ve long since turned away…paid my debt to that world. I have no desire to partake in it ever again. 

When Bennie died, it was the first time I deviated from Death’s truth. I couldn’t grasp his physical absence. It made absolutely no sense to me, even though we both knew he was living on borrowed time. Emotion took over and I looked for any sign that he was still here, somehow. It made for a miserable year. I’m exhausted from seeking signs and clues. This morning, when my Cardinal stopped by, I realized that he’s only a bird. He’s free and happy and has no room to bear the burdens of the dead. Neither do I.

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