In all the human spiritual paths there are stories of great men and women of divine gnosis who die in states of exaltation, sweet relief, or harmonious blending with the Next World that is more of a pause, almost a whisper. And their deaths, while entering holy silence, bring into stronger emphasis their erstwhile presence among people as teachers and examples of true humanity and sincere piety, as if their own lives are proof-positive of God's merciful existence, and their deaths simply a continuing chapter in the Great Adventure. // There are poems about roses blooming on rose-stems/rising and swaying in an air of delirious voices//Love Lord is the fertile earth Your rich compost/black soil of death and disaffiliation that/precedes growth
