i dreamt that i died
and in the afterlife, surrounded by huge grey stone
[the ones that couldn’t quite block out the
brilliant, blinding Dali desert beyond],
in a courtyard that seemed both tiny and cavernous,
i asked the first person i met:
“what happens here, when you die?”
– because death seemed inevitable here, too –
“where do you go when you die in the afterlife?”
he, towering over me (and yet at eye level), very matter-of-factly replied
“you cease to exist.”
he walked – faded – away,
and i stood, frozen, afraid to move,
afraid to die.
but wouldn’t it make more sense, i thought,
if we went right back to living if we died here,
in the afterlife?
i concluded that he must be wrong.
“you cease to exist” echoed in that desert,
as something in the distance turned to look at me.
Painting: Mirage by Salvador Dali