And death is luckier than we suppose.
We wear these bodies out like they were clothes.
Then our faces change and our names,
and the roles we play, but the soul remains –
No breaks between.
The things we call our own in time decay.
And the monuments we build fall away.
But the love we are, we never lose,
though we forget sometimes when we’re confused –
No breaks between.
Some say it’s illusory; some say sublime
how the Self, to reveal itself to itself,
creates space and time.
What we take away is who we are
from life to life, from star to star.
Then one day we awaken and we find
life is a point… and not a line –
No breaks between.