Chronicle of a Corpse Bearer

by Cyrus Mistry

Though death is its precise reason for existence, in this garden, life—overwhelmingly—is the victor.

Dreams, reality, nightmares—are these, in fact, distinct planes of consciousness? Or merely different modalities for perceiving the one grand canvas of an indivisible reality?

elaborate systems of belief have been concocted and espoused over the centuries by man merely to buttress this sad need for meaning; indeed to make life’s transience bearable.

Perhaps life is like that: slippery, elusive, impossible to get a hold on.