There are no pearly gates. Or maybe there are. I do not remember. I remember I walked. I think. Pearly glades of smoldering white light like a bumble bee’s bottom. Or perhaps a fire fly’s. There is a see-through glow in my memory. But I do not have memories. But I remember. Perhaps I remember a dream.
So I walk. It is dim and I feel like an alley cat in the dimness. The earth is close and I smell it. It is fresh, deep brown and red. I wonder if an alley cat would know. It goes on straight ahead…. the fresh earth, I cannot look around, I only look ahead.
The light is deep and dim brown. I see Chinese oracles on the street. I know they are Chinese oracles. They grind small bones to dust and sprinkle them on each others heads. They sit, look up sprinkle; like spices. There are priests I think… they do not sit. They wear flowing robes and loin clothes and they drift by like thoughts. In either direction. They chant and I listen. But I only hear a railway engine. But I do not know what a railway engine sounds like. I could have been hearing anything. I do not remember. I do not have memories.
They pass through me, prismatically… a million worlds pass through me or perhaps I come in the way. I cannot tell. They ask me if I would do human. They do. I must have answered. I do not know if Souls have opinions. I am a soul. I do not remember if I answered. I want to crouch. But souls cannot crouch and souls do not know fear. Perhaps they feel it. But do not know.
I belong to her now. I am human, I think. She keeps me sedated into mock somatic states. I am in a cusp somewhere inside her. I do not feel still. She takes cough syrups and headache pills and I feel them. Perhaps they change my composition. We do not communicate. She doesn’t pass through me. We are bound in chemical bondages. Perhaps I am a pill she takes to forget.
I have no memories.
So I walk. It is dim and I feel like an alley cat in the dimness. The earth is close and I smell it. It is fresh, deep brown and red. I wonder if an alley cat would know. It goes on straight ahead…. the fresh earth, I cannot look around, I only look ahead.
The light is deep and dim brown. I see Chinese oracles on the street. I know they are Chinese oracles. They grind small bones to dust and sprinkle them on each others heads. They sit, look up sprinkle; like spices. There are priests I think… they do not sit. They wear flowing robes and loin clothes and they drift by like thoughts. In either direction. They chant and I listen. But I only hear a railway engine. But I do not know what a railway engine sounds like. I could have been hearing anything. I do not remember. I do not have memories.
They pass through me, prismatically… a million worlds pass through me or perhaps I come in the way. I cannot tell. They ask me if I would do human. They do. I must have answered. I do not know if Souls have opinions. I am a soul. I do not remember if I answered. I want to crouch. But souls cannot crouch and souls do not know fear. Perhaps they feel it. But do not know.
I belong to her now. I am human, I think. She keeps me sedated into mock somatic states. I am in a cusp somewhere inside her. I do not feel still. She takes cough syrups and headache pills and I feel them. Perhaps they change my composition. We do not communicate. She doesn’t pass through me. We are bound in chemical bondages. Perhaps I am a pill she takes to forget.
I have no memories.
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