I love the indentations and line breaks of the original when first published:

Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.

— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934

My sister read this at my nan’s funeral. To help her not cry I practiced it with her as a rap song and did beat boxing for her every time she practiced. When she got up to do the speech I did a b.l.o.o.d gang hand sign at her and she laughed instead haha.

Beautiful.

Identity is just something our brains invent to better make sense of the world. It doesn’t exist as anything other than a thought. You are the universe and the universe is me. The only thing that goes away when anything “dies”, is the illusory and self-imposed border between the “individual” and the rest of it all.

So… Chickens = zombie dinosaurs? /s

I am the soft stars that shine at night

Um, ackschually…