The afterlife is not what I expected. Burning my body was a mistake, although I suppose I move more freely without. Holding on to the notions of being limited by a physical form. Being dumped into a river isn’t all it seems. Before I exited my body I use to think that if my ashes were let into the environment I’d stay in the picture moment forever. Water doesn’t stay still, it is the child of the photo. I feel everything. The wind blowing against the debris of burnt skin. Handful by handful my essence gives way to the wind. The water is gentle but swift. Sly as it whisks up my being, and then it’s no longer my essence; not solely anyway. I am everywhere; the sensation is fascinating.