Soul Road Trip

When our time comes, how will it go? We wonder and may have our own preference on how the end shall come to pass. When it does happen however, death may be more mundane and, in contrast, more mysterious than we think.

When our time comes, how will it go for us? We wonder and may have our own preference – and not so much a choice – on how the end should come to pass. Most of us would prefer to avoid violent, spectacular exits and choose one that’s peaceful, where all loose ends had been tied up and everything that needs to be said, has been said in the relationships that matter most to us. Some would like it where the spirit of the recently departed lingers to say goodbye, before taking leave. I’d imagine that’s reasonable to want. Personally, I prefer stories where the characters leave their bodies in a dignified manner, the energy of their earth-bound selves – call it Soul or any other name you like – levitating gently and floating away into a night sky splattered with stars. In the movies, such an exit would be witnessed by a fallen character, like an excommunicated priest whom nobody would believe if he related what he’d seen. But in reality, death might turn out to be more mundane and, in contrast, more mysterious than we expect it to be.

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Pascal’s Problem

Pascal was at breakfast, trying to solve a problem. Romantic sparks get in his way.

Pascal had a problem to solve and he pondered over his options at breakfast by the window of the cafe that was a minute’s walk from his apartment. He looked out the window, not wanting to hurry, hoping to find some inspiration outside. But it being a grey September working day, the few figures using the sidewalk rushed past and only served to snap off his thoughts. When he allowed his thoughts to return to breakfast – black tea, plain omelette and toast with St. Dalfour’s jam – it seemed to him that he was not making any progress and was nowhere nearer to a solution. Then the waitress’ voice came out of a fog and reached him.

“Is the food okay, sir?”

Pascal raised his eyebrows and turned his head to her, instinctively shaking his head and indicated that No, no, all good.

The pretty waitress, wearing her strawberry colored hair up in a neat bun and revealing her clean, unblemished neck, went away unconvinced.

Pascal returned to his piece of paper on which he’d written the problem and took a thoughtful bite of his toast.

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