O happy confession! I went just this morning. Life begins again with renewed hope for the coming days, maybe, many years, or, perhaps, only moments. I just need to go forward, open to life and, most of all, charity, giving it, as best I can with apologies to match my failures.
A powerful instinct, certainly not reserved for me alone, tells me that the grave in not the end. If it were, what a mockery the sacrifices of caring and struggle, war, family, and country, if it were, I can see why the practical atheist and agnostic would advocate for the convenience of death in the womb, the rallying cry of the pragmatic "progressive" society, planning to bring forth only as much life as it can use. If no resurrection of the dead, why the fuss to perfume our living corpses. Blessed be the grave, bring it on, O happy holocaust!
My sad suppositions terrify me. Give me that candle to carry into the darkness and the holy regard of those praying for the dead. I am not alone in desiring eternity, and the company of the living forever. It is the sun that comes up every morning and the hope that can only be fulfilled in One who is more than matter, and yet, matter does testify by it very existence, in its coming to be, and, so my hope is that He that brought it forth, love me into the infinity of His Being.
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