Crossing Over 

I don’t know how 6.7 billion people do it.

I don’t know why they do it.

The ulcers, the quiet desperation, the fleeting goals.

They can’t bear the thought of separation or annihilation.

I guess they’re hoping that a devoted entourage will escort them to the grave.

Voices in unison that proclaim, “Wow man, you had some really unique DNA”. 

That’s not how it happens.

6.7 billion people are going to die alone.

Chilling,

But we can equate the ultimate unavoidable reality

With authentic experience. 

Too bad I’m not one of the 6.7 billion people that will ever find a way

To stop thinking about what awaits for all of us.

It’s a jewel; it’s the big pay-off,

The Great Equalizer,

The only exit from this sick and twisted dimension.

I was born ready to die,

And perhaps that’s the only real break that I’ll ever get. 

(Hopefully the karma gods will agree

That I have spent an ample amount of time meditating upon death,

I will feel cheated and betrayed

If they don’t spare me the pointlessness of rebirth.)