My sister read this at my nan’s funeral. To help her not cry I practiced it with her as a rap song and did beat boxing for her every time she practiced. When she got up to do the speech I did a b.l.o.o.d gang hand sign at her and she laughed instead haha.

I love the indentations and line breaks of the original when first published:

Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.

— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934

So… Chickens = zombie dinosaurs? /s

Beautiful.

Identity is just something our brains invent to better make sense of the world. It doesn’t exist as anything other than a thought. You are the universe and the universe is me. The only thing that goes away when anything “dies”, is the illusory and self-imposed border between the “individual” and the rest of it all.

I am the soft stars that shine at night

Um, ackschually…