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I was reading a poem I wrote . . . - Hurtling Butt-First Through Time [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)

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I was reading a poem I wrote . . . [Feb. 26th, 2015|02:09 pm]
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)
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. . . several millennia ago and it dawned on me that a bird flying into a plate glass window and killing itself is a very apt metaphor for life---or the lack thereof.  When people quiz me about the "afterlife," I always tell them that they will find that nothing has really changed except their perception of reality, that nothing will be different than it ever was but that it never was how they thought it was and that they will finally see that, having died and all.  It is quite like a bird flying into a plate glass window that it thought was a clear blue sky.  It turned out to be not at all what the bird expected.
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