Paradigm Lift                                                                                                                              

I prefer, instead of that afterlife

Idea espoused by some if not many,

or the equally believed article of faith

In a murky nothingness, to imagine

A very big room about the girth of Nebraska

That’s filled with the living, the dead

And the not-yet-born. This motley trinity

Sweetly shuffling together in stocking feet,

Sometimes raucously, at others' silently

Across a shimmering vast dance floor.

They’re telling corny jokes, laughing

And mostly beaming, feeling lighter

Having forgotten hurts and wrongs now past

Or those let-downs certain one day to transpire.

Even wallflowers blossom here.

Smells of freesia and alyssum swirl

With tendrils of night-blooming jasmine
Kissing pregnant air; my lips can feel

Babies kicking. When I’m quiet 

I hear their breathing softly wafting

As they spin and sashay round and round

Without perspiring to lift each other up

In tender spirals high and higher—

Beloved past, bright-eyed future

All embraced by those now present.

And everyone is gleaming….