Life, death and Recycling… Where does the soul go after death? Thoughts and Questionings…

As I continue to fight for a proper diagnosis of the unbearable pain and swelling of my right wrist, and fight a health care system which seem to work against common sense, I am meditating on death and dying more than ever before… as I perceive it as a clear possibility as the “system” keeps sending me for more tests and no treatment is performed because of ridiculous protocols imposed by the health insurance companies!

The winter is approaching fast and all plants in my garden are already either hibernating or they died forever.

Perennials, berries and rose bushes, will come back in the Spring. Not so with some of the herbs and annual flowers. I will have to buy fresh ones in the Spring. What that tells me on a metaphorical level, is that the strong survives. Why some plants die and some take a break and come back renewed? ALL SEEMS TO BE A CYCLE! Am I a perennial or an annual?

Are we, humans, also part of a cycle? “Dust to dust?” Where does the “essence of us,” what we call “souls,” go after death?

How do you imagine Heaven? Do we go to be with Jesus, if we are Christians? How does happen exactly?

Is there a place called Hell? Who goes there?

I wish y Faith were strong enough for me to not question where will my Soul go, but I DO QUESTION!

I immagine the essence of us travels to a different level of consciousness. I have NO VISUAL OF IT, but I wonder if some souls return on Earth and some don’t…just like flowers…

I am trying to study in depth The Bible, which is not one book, but many. Probably, if the Bible were the ONLY book left on Earth, a life time will not be enough to understand its many levels and metaphors.

I have not studied the Hindu concept of reincarnation in depth, however I do wonder if our souls come back on Earth in different forms…

As I am fighting for a proper diagnosis and treatment, unwillingly forced to follow medical protocols imposed by the insurance companies, I wonder about death!

The system is designed so that if a case does NOT FIT a PROTOCOL, designed by the health insurance companies, that case doesn’t exist! Despite all my doctors’ efforts to diagnose and treat me, I am getting worse, when I know a course of IV antibiotics will cure me!
IF the doctors could treat me based on my medical history, and clinical observation. To LOOK and SEE MY HAND!!!
It seems that is not possible! I am wondering if I will end up dead when it would be so easy to stay alive and be well if treated with IV antibiotics!!

The war against antibiotics has gone too far! I have a clear infection in my right wrist, but because it presents atypical, and doesn’t fit the “cookie cutter” of “protocols,” I am not properly treated! In fact I am not treated at all. Instead I go for more tests and blood work.

Where will my soul go?

I opt for incineration. To turn to ashes the box in which I suffered so much, fought so much and it seems I am loosing the battle despite my desperate efforts to stay alive! To die of an untreated infection in the 21st century, in America because it doesn’t fit the “protocols” imposed by the health care system! How unreal, yet real is this, but IT IS HAPPENING TO ME!!!

I am about to purchase a GREEN URN. I wish my ashes placed with a tree seed and planted in a peaceful place where there are no health insurance companies, no ridiculous medical protocols designed to kill people slowly, while sending them for more tests, and where there is common sense and unconditional love!
Hmm… is there such a place, or did the greed for money corrupt and invade every corner of our Earth?

I continue to mediate and wonder, where my soul will go…
Where will yours?

Cycles of Life –THE SUNFLOWER

Every living entity goes through the same cycles: birth, living and death. Just observing the cycles ought to bring us peace of mind and the trust that the essence of us never disappears, it only transforms and each has its unique, beauty…and mystery…

These images are dedicated to my favorite flower, which no matter how cloudy, it senses the Sun which has guided it forever and turns its head towards it, with no sign of hesitation:

The SUNFLOWER140079250280520140811_095345


Residence Of A Soul

A soul may be…

happy, crushed, sad, numb, broken.

None or all at one time or another.

It may feel as a heavy rock, pulling down

To the bottom of an ocean,

But this ocean is bottomless,

The final destination unknown…

Other times,

The place where we, humans, decide souls go,

Is in a better place,

Or  worse,

Depending on …

what we, as individuals, believe in.

Upon the death of my friend, I had a vision

I cannot see anything,

Rather imagine,

Standing on the edge of a precipice,

at the very edge of it, staring down.

I hope to see into the depth of the place

Where  souls might reside,

and find hers.

What if I loose my emotional balance,

And step forward into the endless precipice,

Where I think  souls find peace?

A passing thought!

Instead, I take two steps back,

In the reality and safety of the Now.

I continue to contemplate and question:

Where do souls reside?

When the time comes,

I wish my soul will be pulverized

In a million particles, so small,

They could enter the hearts of the ones I love.

I know, they will not see it, but feel my presence.

When they do,

I hope they will allow my soul

To rest next to theirs…

before the wind blows it away into eternity…



A Nobody!

A Nobody!.

Peace Settles At Last…

Something broke at the core of my heart

Into millions of pieces…

A vague, uncertain feeling whispered:

‘Look through a magnifying glass,’

I did.

All the way down, at the very bottom

I saw a shape darker than the dark,

“It must have been my hope,”

I  concluded, but was not certain.

Did it matter anyway?

What it used to be, was now at the bottom.

It could not be saved!

It could have been love, or trust too,

All the noble ideals we invent 

To survive.

Especially hope.

My mind knew all it mattered

Was the  NOW, but the irrational Soul

Hung onto the past…

Millions of pieces crushed

Under the burden of lies, pretense,

The illusion of forever, the fear of death.

God answered me at last:

There is NO forever,

Only the dust  which suffocated me, 

The millions of crushed dreams,

Which sparkled in the darkness of life,

Giving me the illusion of hope!

I refused to believe,

I looked again, closer,

Through the distorted, magnifying glass 

Of human emotions.

The hole deepened,

More and more…

A bottomless hole!

Somewhere, deeper than the hope,

I sensed another shadow,

Darker than the dark,

I was not certain what it was…

I needed the artificial light of 

Human pretense and vanity

To dictate  the rules

Of what it was that,

Which I saw!!!

Perhaps it was FAITH!

I turned around, and around,

Faster and faster,

No matter where I turned,

I was blinded by random pieces

Of Truths.

They were senseless and hurtful…

The wider I opened my eyes,

The greater the hurt…

I closed them quickly,

Tight and forever…

Peace settled at last! 

Freedom, Home and All Kinds of Deaths

The dying woman had been barely breathing for weeks.

Her face blended in the perfect white of the cotton sheets, yet, every morning, the around the clock nurses, washed her and with care, applied lipstick on her otherwise cracked, expressionless lips. From a distance, it looked as if she vomited blood, but as one went closer, the illusion disappeared and was replaced by the reality of a perfectly contoured mouth.

Every morning, she opened her once beautiful blue eyes, looked around, and mumbled:

“Jesus, why am I still here?! Please, take me away!!!”

The process repeated over and over, until one morning her eyes stayed shut and the nurse didn’t paint her lips bright red. 

They all gave thanks to Jesus for having had mercy on her at last. He gave her the gift of a meaningful life and dignified death.


When I was five, or perhaps six, lacking adult supervision at home, many times, I played in the yard of the hospital where my mother performed eye-surgeries every Tuesday.

For a city girl, playing in dirt, smelling the wild flowers and watching the intricate lives of bugs I didn’t know existed, was an unimaginable treat!

These particular insects were everywhere. On the bright green grass, moving slowly, I noticed these red bugs spotted with red specs. They were called God’s Cows… Unquestionably, their name was Vaca Domnului (God’s Cow) for a reason. I never questioned why, as I never questioned the origins of my own name. It just was.

That first Tuesday I observed the insects in freedom. By the time Tuesday came again, I decided it would be better for them to be safe! Not imprisoned, but safe! I brought with me a jar filled it with a variety of grass, wild flowers and a few crumbs… may be they ate crumbs, or grass or both. I even gave them a few drops of water and observed them… a day, two, three… tick, tick, tick… the sound of a clock, or was it their heart echoing from the jar. Did they have a heart? Never asked myself at the time, but I knew their new life, in the mini-Paradise I created must have been much, much better than their life in freedom, where danger was everywhere!  

After a while, inside the safe home I had created, next to the adult black and red God’s cows, I noticed tens of  transparent insects the size of moving dots. A miracle! I was witnessing a miracle! By then, I carried the jar with me everywhere, it had become part of me.

That evening, I went to sleep early, so that I could wake up at sun raise and watch the miracle whose creation I had helped.

In the light of the morning,  the miniature “home,”  the mixture of green, black and red and the transparent moving  dots seem even more magical! I looked closer. And closer! I froze; I wanted to scream but no sounds came out.

I called my mom. She looked at the jar and matter of fact said:

“All the adult insects are dead. I don’t know about this type of insects, but it seems, once their “babies” are alive, the parents die. Their purpose was to procreate… to… continue the species. Their mission was done, they have no other purpose to exist. Hurry up now, I’ll be late for work,” she said and gently guided me to the door.

I wiped off my tears, and jar in hand, we hopped on the tram which took us to the hospital where my mom worked on Tuesdays.

“Don’t leave the hospital yard, you know that, right? It is dangerous out there!” She  walked slowly toward the main entrance, turned around  and said to me:

” … and empty the jar. They belong in freedom.”   

That was when I knew why they were named God’s caws. I felt better.