Behind Your Face

In what way can the dead be said to exist? I drove past my uncle's tree, like I sometimes do. It's better than a gravestone but it doesn't really cut it. God, you Bad Cop, I'd blame you if I believed. I believe in God like I believe in Hamlet - a good story, one that might even be able to change the world, but lacking something essential. Gertrude is getting married on Sunday. We're all entitled to happiness, I guess.

I've begun to consider the possible ramifications of being alone forever. It seems like no way to go through life - I suppose the question, the true question, is whether we believe in fate or choices when it comes to other people - though of course, this (like everything) is not about other people. It is about me. Even so, life might still be inevitable. Death surely is.

Take a moment and locate your place in the world, your actual real place. You might be surprised to realize that it is behind your face.