Laura held that she very much wished consciousness to be finite. She said those that think otherwise simply have no imagination of the great boringness that would ensue after a hundred years of this dis-embodied existence. Yet, if consciousness continues, one can always reincarnate, and Deep Self seed a new Surface Self.

I cannot ask Laura now. Sometimes I feel her spirit, but I don't know if that is merely my own memory making her seem near. Strange thing it was, after Friday's poem of 'Deep Cherishing', that the printer did a strange thing when the computer was powered up again. The printer hummed into life and printed just one small heart symbol and then was quiet. Skeptical mind can say it was just a fluke. Mean step mother mind wants to say, 'go to bed without supper, give up your foolish fantasies, this is illusion!' And I am humble, spent of all but small hope. And that I clutch just ever so lightly.

Sorrow says in me that I should not know these things, can not know these things, that it is beyond me to ever know. Shall I think it then sad sorrow? But I will not listen too closely to its words.

Wisdom answers Sorrow, 'But of you and your arrogance! These things will happen regardless of what you think. Yes, seize the day, but seize the hope, as well.'

Deep fear, that, holds no bars, demands all obeisance that when 'all' is done, ALL is done. Fearful thinking, that, which clouds mind and limits soul. Do you think you are finite? Is it the hard discipline of rationality which brings this conclusion to your door? Is it the merciless conclusion of those fearful of being fools that puts their conclusion besides yours? Do you really think that 'this' is all there is? "I have been so trained not to hope." Given there is no sure evidence that all consciousness is gone, when last physical body stills, "I have been so trained not to hope." I thought this lack of mercy would edify me, bring me to hard wall of reality. But can I with only five senses, know reality? And they think they can, the skeptics. They are certain in their knowledge as he who gives faith his unquestioned trust. Certain between these extremes there is a balance. Know it. And will find it. I have known the Divine within, the Deep Self. It, I, speak now. Broken winged, if allowed no hope. How to ascend to stars, if so broken. Yet immortality, if it exists, exists with or without our commentary, and that is a comfort. So faithless I can still ascend. If I smash the pottery of doubt, doubtless the hard drink will come in another vessel. Think that sour and stinging drink will bring wisdom? Yes, it often does. So I won't smash the pottery. Yet I want to smash Something. Foregone conclusion maybe is one. All right to wonder and hold as uncertain. But to say not and never? Am I the 'lazy skeptic'? Maybe I have simply not seen all the evidence. Deep underground Mystery wells, show me the evidence! I drop a sturdier vessel down deep into them, one of science strength steel, and will pull up what I will carefully examine. There is now no portal shut to me which can not at some point be opened if I have the right key. I hope I have the key. JAL, 3 - 28 - 04

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