Where will I go when there is no longer room for me here. Will I be hot enough to rise, like smoke? Will I be bright enough to shine through everlasting space? Will I be flexible enough to flow all the way to the sea? Will I be hard enough to remain as a building stone? Will I be carried forever upon the wind?
Will the memory of me bring joy, or will it cause unhappiness? Will the things I leave behind be blest by my use or cursed by my possession? Will the air I have breathed bring life to others who use it in their turn? Will the earth itself be improved from my sojourn? Will all my forgiven sins be lessons for others and a step on our path?
What of the stains I leave on paper, will they be seen again, will they be understood, will they instruct, will they enlighten, will they uplift, will they connect? If so, to whom? Me?
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