Back From the Grave

A Poem:

One night I saw my own death in a dream. It felt wonderful. I was lost in a warm sea of gelatinous stars, everyone a happy soul that I had touched and made happy at some point in my vagarious life. I was finally dead and a tally could be made.

A man in a warm jumper was once having this thought, and it scared him. Such an odd thing to be scared of. A room full of warm souls as stars and bright as their most fulfilled moment. It was not this room he was scared of though, but the other room, which he hadn’t even dreamed of.

A Journal:

As you read this and I write it, I realize that I probably am now dead. You will be too of course one day, but if this ever gets published or preserved and kept anywhere, then its quite possible that, as with so many writers, by the time you read it and hopefully enjoy it I will have long since passed from this earth. From this world unto the next, if you believe that, or from this body into another body, the same soul reborn to a new mind. In fact, if you really believe in reincarnation, you could be me, reading words that you wrote in a previous life. Now that is a thought.

But I am always very aware, when writing, that I am at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to my readers. Firstly, it’s equally possible that this will never be read by anyone, since I don’t claim to be the most marketable of authors. But assuming that someone will read it (and I must assume that otherwise I might as well just stop right now), I have no idea who, or indeed even stretching the imagination to the fullest, what, you are. Are you reading this in English, or in some other language, Chinese, for example. Are you a man or a woman, are you young or old. Are you rich or poor? (Richer than most, probably, if you can afford the time and money to buy and read books). These are fascinating thoughts because whoever you are, sociologically speaking, and there is a wide variety of possibilities, there are certain personality features that you must have in order to read my words. I can deduce, for example, that you are fairly patient and open minded, for you couldn’t have got this far in reading such dribble without those qualities. For vanities sake, I must also assume that you are an intelligent and naturally inquisitive soul. You must be intelligent to get my rather obscure drift, and inquisitive enough to hope that there might be an interesting point that I am leading up to. If I am writing well then you should be hanging on my every word in a state of intellectual bliss.

But seriously, does it frighten you that you are reading the words of a dead man? If you can indulge me in constructing an “audience” of readers for myself for one second, then, assuming that my words are published, then some readers will know me as a contemporary writer. For those readers, obviously I am not dead yet. But for the other readers, those who will read my words after I have passed, then you are effectively speaking to the dead. You are connecting with the mind of a ghost…… BOOO! I have left my thought patterns on this page and you are imbibing them. How does that feel? I’d love to know, and of course I can speculate that this happens all the time to pretty much everybody. Every time you listen to an old piece of music who’s composer has copped it, the thoughts, feelings and soul of that person is entering and mixing with you soul. This could be a good or a bad experience, depending on the music. The same applies to these ramblings.

I’m not sure, but we could be making history together, at least those of you who are reading me post-mortem. I mean, we have tangible proof that you can speak to the dead, since we are engaged in the real thing. Forget wiji boards, this is it. Now correct me if I’m wrong (although of course you can’t if I’m dead, but if I have any offspring please direct your corrections to them), but this may be the first time that such ghostly communication has occurred in such a literary form. Though I don’t make the ridiculous and insulting claim to be the first writer to be aware of his or her mortality, and to derive a certain amount of creative edge from it, I do wonder if any other writer has ever spoken directly from the grave as I am now doing with you. What do you think?

The other question, of course, is such a communication, in its bare essentials, worth while. In this piece, for example, I have done little but acknowledge its strange existence and wonder. But there is some wondering to be done, and if you are a wondering soul (in the sense of enjoying wondering and contemplating about things as the essence of self conscious life) then you would agree that acknowledging something is the hardest step in trying to understand existence. How can we acknowledge death, for example, without feeling fear and incomprehension. Well fear not, for I am dead, but I’m ok, I promise, and I’m very happy to be reincarnated, even for just five minutes, through you. I do so wonder though who you are and what your world is like. What is the future like? In this exchange of minds you have me at a distinct advantage in that respect. If only you could write back to me, wherever I am, whatever I am doing in my post existence. I suppose that wouldn’t be quite right, so let’s just enjoy life as it is. What do you think? I’d love to know your opinion. It’s you that really matters, not me I am dead! But right now I am happy.

A Reply:

It is the year 2999, and I am writing back to you. You are long since dead, but I can inform that a thousand years of history have not changed mans mortality. I think you’re questions are very pertinent, and possibly even profound, but unfortunately you are not revered as an author. The world is very different now, and using English words like this is not a standard form of communication. Reading in general has long been replaced with newer forms of entertainment which you’d find very astonishing I’m sure. Luckily though we have not forgotten the importance of history completely so there are a few of us, including myself, who have kept up the old ways out of posterity.

Unfortunately though this does mean that I am not fluent in your language, and many of the things of my world don’t have words in your language. I cannot then really answer all of your questions because it is simply an intellectual feat beyond my powers.

But your words have been preserved. As much as is possible all the data encrypted on computers during your era has been preserved for posterities sake, so its possible for anyone with the know how to look back and read what was being written at the turn of the last millennium.

There’s something of a paradox involved in your thinking. You were communicating with me a few minutes ago as I read your words, but what about now? I have called your bluff and am replying to you but, as you said, you are dead and can’t possibly read this. In fact as you said also I could be you reincarnated, but that would not change the fact that you are dead and so your particular configuration of brain cells and cultural place in history has been lost forever. You cannot read this.

But the paradox is who will read this once I’m dead, and in what sense shall we all be communicating together? Will I have joined your historic communion? Your life is in my hands in fact because I am smart enough to avoid the laws and attach my reply to your question so that anyone who reads it in the future will have the pleasure of reading both our discourses. Or if I was really evil I could delete your file and make sure that you will really be dead forever.

Don’t worry though I won’t do that I am actually what you would call an academic so it is my job to preserve and explain things. You are right, and if I may expand on your thoughts (take your thought waves further…… you cannot copyright thought waves after all we are a species who has thrived on transmitting and developing our thought waves) this little project of mine, learning to write 21st century English and reply to your interesting letter even though less than 0.1% of the people of my time will be able to understand what I am doing, proves that existence is an eternal moment, a forever now if you will. By preserving your thoughts and communicating so directly from the grave, you have touched another soul and our communion is, in a sense, eternal. We are one through time and this is a beautiful truth because even a thousand years of history do not separate us. I don’t know where you are right now but I know that part of you is right here with me in my thoughts, encoded in the precise words that you felt it necessary to write at that existential moment in your life. Thank you for this and thank you for giving meaning to my rather difficult job of trawling through early 21st century writings. You have made me laugh and think. Now we are both preserved through history and right now I am happy as you are.