What We Self-Reflect After Death

When we die, we become disembodied spirits.
And the only thing we self-reflect in this form
is the encoding our souls have retained from their past lives.

We don’t remember our bodies or personalities.
Not our life events, people we knew,
or even the places and times in which we lived.

It’s not until our souls are re-embodied
that we may form faint and fleeting recollections
of our earlier embodied forms.

That’s the way it’s supposed to be
so that it’s possible for our souls to evolve
toward their own Divine perfection.

Hard Things to Imagine

Hard to imagine
being dead,
since all we know
is being alive.

Hard to imagine
life after death,
since all we know
is being alive.

Hard to imagine
dreaming of things
beyond our experience,
but we do this every day.

Hard to imagine
when we’re dead and gone,
absent any reason to remember,
that our dreams will bring us back to life.

Soul-Searching

At times, we feel our impermanence–
The sense we will not exist forever.
These times call for soul-searching,
Which begins with searching for our souls–
Both in the light and darkness of our being.
And then, once we make the divine connection,
We commence searching within our souls–
For hints, clues, and hopefully unmistakeable answers
About who we are, and what becomes of us
When our souls decide to continue their journeys.

My Dad’s Passing

My father, Donald Lowell Iannone, died this morning at 6:20 AM Central Time in Tupelo, MS. In June of this year, he was diagnosed with cancer.

Dad was loved dearly by his family and friends, and he will be deeply missed by all of us. Toot a loo, Dad. We love you!

Something tells me Dad would like to be a Country/Western singer, who also writes poetry, in Nashville in his next life. (Smiles)

Click here to read about Dad’s poetry. I will be posting more about my Dad in the near future.

My sincere thanks to all sending me and my family their thoughts and prayers over the past several months.

When the Owl Calls Your Name

The owl was calling last night
Somebody’s name echoed through the dark still forest
I listened for awhile to hear him again
But only silence rang through my ears

When the owl called
My heart shrank with fear
Praying it was not my name
But another’s that he called

Most don’t hear the owl’s call
Until it is their time
Until it is their name
Echoing through the tall dark trees

Those who believe
Say that the owl doesn’t know
Whose name he calls
Only he who bears the name knows

There is no mistaking
When your name is called
We always hear it
Then, it is our time to go

Why They Argue

They argued, firing ugly words back and forth
Just their pain talking–
The pain of staying alive
Of knowing they’re closer to death than life

Picking scabs from old wounds
Making them bleed
Blood is life
Why not make yourself bleed

Growing old isn’t easy
Everything you thought you were falls apart
They bicker because they’re falling apart —
Cell by cell, breath by breath

Sometimes breathing is even too hard
Eventually the arguing stops
That’s when you know–
The end is near