What is the opposite of being alive?

Is it nothing.

Is it returning to dust, to metals, to the canyon walls, to the things that accumulate on my window sill.

Is it being without a body.

Is it being with a soul, the all-seeing eye, the deepest wisdom of understanding.

Is it wind.

Is it a hummingbird or a cardinal or an auspicious being that takes flight.

Is it being reincarnated or mummified or transubstantiated or impermanent or waiting in limbo to make a choice or have a choice made for you.

Is it a little flash of gold light.

Is it a little flash of green light, projecting from the ocean to the shore.

Is it a fire, a pyre, a flame that changes color in its interactions with a medium.

Is it being buried in yellow cedar bark caskets.

Is it having the same dust we’re made of tossed over you in handfuls.

Is it an exhale.

Is it a new beginning, an oasis.

Is it everything.

Is it now.