If I die, I would like to be buried with memories of my life.
I would like to be buried with all the photographs I ever took.
(I would like memories of all those who was ever important to me
and all those I loved so dearly and whom I loved so,
if there is a difference that is.)
I would like to be buried with all my journal and blog entries.
I would like to be buried in my favourite outfit.The pink shirt with berms and artas white snake skin leather shoes and a brown leather belt
(I wonder what would happen if I had a few favourite outfits at 80,
that is if I die at 80, and not some freak accident tomorrow or the week after.)
And if I ever get cremated, I would like all these things to be placed next to my urn.
And if I ever get my way, and really roll up my ash into a roll of nicely flavoured tobacco for all my loved ones and those who attend my funeral to smoke, I hope that in place of my body and my self, that all these things would represent me instead. Bury those in my tomb. Place those things behind the wall for the urn.
For those things represent much more than a dead and lifeless body, that has lived but no longer. Those things however, represent life and memory, that will always go on living for those who care to look.
I would like however, to be placed below a rose bush.
Those things may do the trick too.
No rose bush? Grow one then!
For I would still like to know that beauty exists apart from death.
And that although I have died, the essence of me still contributes
to the beauty,
of this now-ugly earth.