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Though They Slumber....

A graveyard can have a profound effect on refocusing one's life. It's not filled with the evil spirits of the undead or crawling with bats and undesirables who claim the land as the last refuge for a society's rebellious. You can go and speak with relatives and listen to Life in the chirping of the birds. The flowers on gravestones speak volumes of one's life and how one's respective allottment of oxygen was diffused effectively into the hearts of others. In this place one can find refuge. It's God's tangible temple, His promise as bright as a rainbow after the falling rain in the middle of spring. In this place, all sleep; all rest and relieve the weariness in their bones. An angel has been placed at the entrance and keeps out evil as does his brother who guards the tempting gate into the Garden of Eden. No bill collectors or legislators have jurisdiction under the mounds of soft earth. No war on terror or airborne virus can beseech the domain of these veterans of Life. All is quiet and calm. The dead can speak in the whispering of the wind or the drops of the rain; they can sing melodies that rival the ravings of Thelonious Monk or the genius of Miles. As the sun flirts with the leaves of the trees, they slumber. And in this slumber, the sweetest of dreams converge and rush to my soul. I hear the tone in their warnings and the wisdom attaches to my spine and straightens my stance. My resolve is strenghthened to the temperment of titanium and waxes brighter than the most brilliant of diamonds. And as they rest...my soul also rests. Thank you Grandaddy William. Thank you Grandma Mattie.

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