Religion, Ritings, and Ramblings:
(the 3 R's)

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[Life After Death] [On JFK jr] [The Little One:A Hurricane Floyd Story]
Life after death. What a religious phenomenon. Where do we go after we die? Heaven? Hell? Reincarnated? Purgatory? Nowhere? These are questions scholars and laypeople have wondered for milleniums. We all have different answers depending on our religious beliefs.

As a Scientific Pantheist, I believe we go back to the earth. We are one with the universe. "Dust to dust...ashes to ashes". There is no place called heaven. If so, where is it? We have sent men on the Moon and satellites along our vast universe and not once have we seen pictures of this so called place "Heaven". Also, we have dug to the depths of the Earth, explored the depths of the seas, and not once have we encountered a place called "Hell". Show me where are these places?

I believe tradition religious people are so caught up in the hereafter, that we forget to live in the moment. Once I watched on TV a sermon by a Southern Baptist minister. He told the congregation that they are so caught up in living by the scriptures and the 10 Commandments that they are not living today. He said, "When you meet your master on reckoning day, you will be asked what did you do on Earth while alive. Do not think the doorway to heaven will be open for those of you who have not lived in the present and given back to your fellow man."

I could not agree more. We are put here to help others, which includes the animal and plant world as well as human beings. When we die, we live on in others' memories. That is "heaven". That is eternal life. Our physical and spiritual selves are gone. Forever. What we do while alive is our salvation and legacy. We need to volunteer or at the minimum be courteous to others. Something as simple as holding the door open for another is worthwhile. Our "hell" is here on Earth when we isolate ourselves from each other. We reap what we sow. Let's sow peace and goodwill.

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John F. Kennedy jr's untimely death left a scar on me and I think most of the free world. I will not spend time on his life or death. Instead, I want to focus on his burial, which was very nontraditional for a Catholic. He was cremated and buried at sea.

Cremation is nontraditional for Catholics (and Christianity in general who believe the body is a temple). Why would one want to go against the grain so to speak and have a nontraditional burial? The answer is simple. JFK jr was a man of the Earth. With all the possessions and well known name, he could have lived like a king. Instead he could be found frequently in New York City, his home, riding the subway, roller blading in Central Park, and riding his bike through busy New York streets. He was also Irish. The Irish feel a strong bond to the sea for it has given many an Irishman food and also has taken many lives.

JFK jr lived like a Scientific Pantheist in some ways: the ways of being down to Earth and loving nature, particularly the sea. What more appropriate way to have a last send off? "Dust to dust...ashes to ashes". Which image would we prefer to remember about him: lying in a coffin at a mass funeral or doing what he did best, living life to its fullest?

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As I mentioned in my September 1999 ruminations, I have been feeding birds from my patio bird feeders. All types of birds flock there to feed daily. One bird that caught my attention and heart was one sparrow who couldn't fly. I named him "The Little One". Several weeks ago, I first noticed him head first in the grass just beyond my patio. I thought "Here is a sick bird I need to move so the cats won't get to him." I went outside and noticed he was breathing. As I gingerly approached, his head bobbed up out of the overgrown grass. We looked at each other. He had a helpless look as if to say, "Are you going to eat me now?" I began to calmly talk to him and I saw his breathing slow. Thinking he was injured because he didn't fly away at my approach, I reached over to pick him up so I could carry him to a vet. When I did this, he glided down the embankment to the nearest bush.

Daily I watched for The Little One to come feed. He did. Since he couldn't fly, I began putting seed on the patio itself so he could feed. Not only did he come several times daily, he would sit on my patio for hours. We would watch each other. It was almost as if he were "home". Sometimes I tried to get close to him, but he tried to fly away. I took great pleasure in watching him gain in strength which he did. In the back of my mind, I worried what would happen when winter came. Would he freeze? Would he be able to fly South?

Trying not to think negative thoughts, I just took pleasure in watching him. I noticed one day he didn't look like any other birds out there. He seemed not to know any of the other birds--almost as if he were orphaned or lost. Maybe he got injured and his family left him to fly further South, I thought. By this time, he was now able to fly to the bottom part of a bush. Wonderful! Maybe by winter he will be able to fly!

Then Hurricane Floyd came. The last time I saw The Little One was the night before Floyd hit. The Little One came on my patio close to the door. He was drenched in rain and alone. I wanted so badly to bring him inside; however, I knew he would only try to fly away if I approached him. I hoped his instincts would take over and take cover. I also hoped he would find refuge under my patio overhang to stay safe. He hopped out of my sight towards a bush next to my patio. Then I went to take care of myself and my home.

The following day I watched the birds come back to my feeder. I looked and waited somewhat impatiently for The Little One. I thought I saw him but wasn't sure. Two days later I looked around my apartment. I saw The Little One dead under the bush he hopped to before the storm. I got a very good look at him. Such a beautiful bird. How do I know it was The Little One? Don't all sparrows look alike? I knew it was The Little One the same way any mother knows her young.

I took The Little One to the woods behind my apartment complex and gave him a proper burial. He gently rested so peacefully in the cold, wet, red clay which seemed to welcome him "home". As I turned towards my apartment, I wept. I didn't know whether I wept for The Little One's loss or touched because he chose to stay close to me during the hurricane. Or whether it really mattered the reason.

There will be other birds that come to my feeder but none will touch me in quite the same way The Little One did. Oh you may say I am a crazy bird lady or just plain crazy. That is ok with me. I would like to think I made the life of one bird a bit better in the last days of his short life.

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Jewel's "Hands"

copyright 1999 by inner_strength.geo

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