Lost in the Milky Way

Some of us are like trees that grow with a spiral grain as if prepared for the path of  the spirit’s journey to the world of all souls. It is not an easy path. A dog stands at the opening constellation past the great helping hand. The dog wants to know, did you ever harm an animal, hurt any creature, did you take a life you didn’t eat? This is the first on your map. There is another my people made of  the great beyond that lies farther away than this galaxy. It is a world that can’t be imagined by ordinary means. After this first one, the next could be a map of  forever. It could be a cartography shining only at some times of  the year like a great web of finery some spider pulled from herself to help you recall your true following your first white breath in the cold. The next door opens and Old Woman counts your scars. She is interested in how you have been hurt and not in anything akin to sin. From between stars are the words we now refuse; loneliness, longing, whatever suffering might follow your life into the sky. Once those are gone, the life you had against your own will, the hope, even the prayers take you one more bend around the river of sky.