Creative Experiments and More

Reena’s Exploration Challenge

Image Credit: Mary Shelley

The prospect of death didn’t frighten him. He knew his family would grieve, but he’d be dead so he wouldn’t know or, by that time, care. Dead was dead. Period. None of that idiotic coming back as a bug if you hadn’t lived your life right; thought what was meant by ‘right’ was a question in itself. No angels blowing the trumpets with Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, pointing either up or down.

How could he? There was no heaven and no hell. No monster wreaking havoc upon a fellow for the rest of eternity.

Dead. Was. Dead. Period.

His mother was dead. His father. Aunts and uncles, maybe some nieces or nephews. Come to think of it, there wouldn’t be anyone to grieve him anyway.

Good. He despised moaning and wailing…

In the machinations
of the cosmos,
we’re on Earth below
and high above us
a silver lunar eye
and swirling stars.

We expect
the unexpected,
even when
we know seasons
must come around again
in Nature’s karmic
puppet show.

Comedy or tragedy,
she writes the rules
in moon-silvered chalk;
she sings the songs
while we walk the walk,
until we understand
that summer follows spring
and winter follows autumn:

what goes around
comes around again
and again.

Kim M. Russell, 5^th July 2018

Image found on Pinterest

My response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver #178: Karma

This week the Tale Weaver asks us to write about karma.