I wonder

The other side

I once talked to a man who claims to know a lot about death.He told me that a man cannot die only once, except for the absolute death known to us.He also says that man also cannot live more than once, he cannot change forms, aggregate states and religion, in that one life after life and the next, after the next.Why would a man die more than once before absolute death, and does absolute death mean oblivion-induced death or scientific / chemical-physical death for that tender man?
When he says that a person dies more than once, he means the micro sorrows of everyday life, and then the macro sorrows, all the way to the absolute sorrow of parting from loved ones and from the most beloved-self.Life, on the other hand, is continuous, he claims.How to? Does he thinks that life does not end after death, and how do micro deaths arise in that moment of life from that continuity, and how many are there then?To my question, the question that only I can hear, he answers that life in continuity represents the knowledge of our existence, whether we have information about it in our consciousness, or whether others understand it about us.

Which means, as long as we are in someone's brain cell, consciousness, subconscious that emerges in a dream, we exist and the life of our soul does not escape into the forgotten city.

How then is there absolute death?

I was sitting in the cemetery that day, talking to the man opposite me, he was telling magic stories even before this story, and I had company again after a long time but I was still not quite sure which side I was on and what world I belonged to. Am I on Earth and where is the Earth, and how is it possible for him to speak if he is absolutely dead, and then I realize that I am not forgotten and that we are both alive in our own way, somewhere in someone's memories no matter who lies who walks, and how our lives unfold before and after this meeting at noon, and whether or not we see each other often and whether we see each other in private. We exist and we know each other. We live.

I often came to that grave place alone, there was no name, I saw that was a long time ago, some distant years can be seen, and I knew nothing about that man except those of his stories that he shares with me.Once our meeting under the shade of a tree was attended by a third person, one of us of a similar sex, age and opinion, but this time my friend did not speak. All I know is that he was angry that I wasn't coming, that there were a lot of withered leaves and worms on his side of the land, and now even the concrete part of the grave is not visible. He thinks, I'm careless, I don't come, I don't remember him, not even as falsely as I know him, and now because of my ideas he changes his character again, depending on my imagination.He is afraid that he will die the way he would not like and he wants to share his story with me, so next time I come to our, now no longer so secret place, alone, and with the help of my paper and hand I follow the story of this stranger and record is a mantra of oblivion.- Make a vow to me, make a vow that while we share our stories, you will manage to stop and think well about every topic, to capture every thought and then let it float freely in the river of life, because that's how it happens in that world of yours that I walked.

Promise that every topic will be important, so important that it is life inevitable and that it represents for you every breath in the day when we talk about that topic.

I spent my life thinking about every trampled and picked flower, even the unnoticed one. Do you know what flowers I mean?