The dangers of dying

I was watching myself turn into a dot, through the eyes of a ladybug which launched itself from the tip of my finger, in a vertical flight. 

Why are people more terrified by the Apocalypse than by their own deaths? The end of the whole world would mean that the hope of returning into another form back here, would be pointless. The death of one, bares a slight possibility of recurrence.

I've got a common identity with this world; my capacity of understanding or imagining things in it, can be stretched to the point where my senses are convinced that I share a common vision with any living or non-living thing.
Now, for instance, I imagine myself falling down as a raindrop and splashing into a puddle of other raindrops. I've become the whole puddle where a kid jumps in with both feet, disintegrating the watery mass, bringing us raindrops closer to our original form. For a moment, my self awareness increases, but it only lasts for as long as the flight. Landing onto the ground, the puddle reforms around me and I get stuck there, subject to the common laws of all raindrops in the muddy puddle.

Can I hope and pray that the Sun will send me back, up in the sky? I will rush towards the cloud which will make me come back raining on orange trees, then linger on their leaves for as long as I can, before sliding down onto the beautiful people who are dancing with the rain and wouldn't mind my embrace...

I have once wished for a world of pure joy, then for a world of pure individual purpose, then for a network of consciences of pure joy and strong purpose, which could all see each other from outside of their own network, then I understood that wishing is playing with powers which are beyond my earthly grasp and finally I understood that a conscience capable of wishing is the gift itself.



For when a ladybug dies, the end of the world has happened...