Crossing Over

I seem to be making some sort of transition into another realm over these days. I understand more and more when people say, “I can’t tell what’s real from what’s not real any longer.” In my case, of course, what most people call real is what I call unreal, but I feel as though I’m beginning to make short excursions from the unreal, which is this world, to the real, which is the world that is to come, although, of course, it’s already here. It’s all around us. We’re just not aware of it yet, or again. I’m beginning to have more and more times when all I really want to do is just go somewhere quiet, lie down, and daydream. The best place to do that is in my garden, except when there are people around whose voices intrude into that perfect reality, but when I can manage to find those short periods when this world does not intrude into my perfect pretend world, those times are becoming so vivid to me now that I realize they’re becoming more vivid than this world has ever been, which just affirms the fact that this world is not really real, it just seems to be. And I find myself wondering if death isn’t just that final crossing over, where you don’t come back, where the excursions to that next world are over, and now you’re just there. Isn’t that going to be wonderful?