This piece of poetry. Wow. The more I read it the more it means to me and the more I love it.
In some strange way it gives me hope in this deep fear of death which plagues my mind too often. I am insignificant. I know that; simply one more person in a world of seven billion. They say that 107 billion people is the number of those that have
ever lived (since we begin considering ourselves modern humans, way back in the mists of time). And we remember almost none of them.
It's a frightening thought, and yet in our insignificance, are we not also significant? To those around us whose lives we changed, we were the world. Our footprints still marked the earth, and even though they have long since blown away, is it simply the fact that they were there at all that is important?
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
-Mary Elizabeth Frye