Imagine, when a human dies,
the soul misses the body, actually grieves
the loss of its hands and all
they could hold. Misses the throat closing shy
reading out loud on the first day of school.
Imagine the soul misses the stubbed toe,
the loose tooth, the funny bone. The soul still asks, Why
does the funny bone do that? It’s just weird.[…]
When a human dies the soul moves
– Andrea Gibson, Tincture
through the universe trying to describe how a body trembles
when it’s lost, softens when it’s safe, how a wound would heal
given nothing but time. Do you understand? Nothing in space can
imagine it. No comet, no nebula, no ray of light
can fathom the landscape of awe, the heat of shame.
The fingertips pulling the first gray hair
and throwing it away. I can’t imagine it,
the stars say. Tell us again about goosebumps.
Tell us again about pain.
What a beautiful poem about the preciousness of this human life.
The experiences that come through this human life are unique. There is nothing like it in the universe or throughout time. It’s precious beyond comprehension, precisely because it’s so unique and fleeting.
That’s the same for the world of all beings, not just you and me. It’s not limited to humans.
Each being is a world, precious beyond what we can understand.
If we continue after the death of this human self, other experiences will fill our world, and yet the world of this human self will never return. The taste of a strawberry. Grief over the loss of a loved one. The feeling of the sun on the skin. The pain of a stubbed toe. The experience of a refreshing swim in a lake. All of that is only possible through this human life.