De är okej.


"Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is great reason to hope that death is a good, for one of two things: — either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another.

Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by the sight of dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man, I will not say a private man, but even the great king, will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others.

Now if death is like this, I say that to die is a gain; for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead are, what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this?

If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from the professors of justice in this world, and finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aeacus and Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again."

- My dear Socrates. 

Himlen finns på riktigt.

Jag såg en väldigt fin stjärnhimmel den natten. Då vi råkade koka räkor i en stekpanna.
Nästa natt badade jag med stjärnorna, i ett hav vid västkusten. 
Vännen, det kallas mareld. Och jag framkallade det med mina simtag.
Mina dagar är så vackra just nu. Det är sjukt.

Till och från.

En dag åkte jag från dimman till havet och tillbaka. 
Vart jag än gick var allting vackert. 
Utom min ihärdiga träningsverk.
Men med en mjuk tandborste kunde jag borsta bort alla sår.
Till och med dina. Så:
Kom och ge upp nu.

Ibland tror jag att människor blir rädda,
för allt de inte känner, och allt de känner för väl.
Ge upp rädslan och dansa på ängen tillsammans med mig.

Det kanske är där vi alla hör hemma. 
På en äng mitt emellan svart och vitt.
Men aldrig i någon gråzon. Aldrig någonsin.