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spells painted on the walls and coffins.

As for the Eskimos, there’s an ancient adage that says, “Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.” I really love that concept.

There are dozens and dozens of beliefs about death and the afterlife out there in the world for me to consider. Up until last week, I always thought of the dead as a continuous presence in my heart — a flame that refuses to go out. I wasn’t familiar with the Apache belief that my eyes could be used by loved ones who have crossed over — that my father may have used my eyes like windows to see the whales off the coast of Hawaii in 2020, or that I helped my Grandmother Jarriel (who was nearly blind when she passed) revisit and see Jarrard Gap (where her grandfather lived) a few years ago, or that my Papa Lanier tours his farm with me outside of Metter every time I go and visit my Uncle Lamar and walk around.

I don’t know how things work, but I like the idea of continuing my life’s journey so my loved ones who have passed can continue to live on and see the beauty of the world through my eyes. In fact, I think I’ll go outside right now and stand in the morning sunshine so my loved ones can see what a lovely day it is here on earth today.