"There is a science to dying the bodily systems arrest and life subsequently ceases that makes sense. It's but how much human inquiry invention imagining and unrest has arisen out of the desire to understand what happens to us after the body dies. Some people whose bodily systems arrest temporarily people who died and and were medically revived have stories to tell stories about a place they went to beings. They met insight that was visited upon them. I for one am a sucker for those stories for those glimpses of the mystery that has preoccupied our species through the ages. It turns out that lots of these people talk about an emphatic. Visceral sense of compassion. They're made to experience sometimes. Sometimes it takes the form of understanding suddenly that everything is alive with thought feeling and divinity the rocks the trees the grass the animals the air the water the dirt alive with a personality and a purpose sometimes that intense compassion takes the form of revisiting moments from their own lives and actually feeling the effects affects their own words and actions had upon others. In one story I read a man was overtaken by the intense gratitude food and relief that plant experienced when he poured it a drink of water. Other people described the opposite being consumed by the profound hurt or confusion. Their own actions have caused others. There's no scientific way to prove any of this and yet it makes perfect sense to me that our actions matter. It makes perfect and unassailable sense to me. That the good good and the bad which we put into the world is felt by others. I don't know with any certainty. What will actually we happen when I die but each time I encounter one of these stories. I come away wanting to live better. I think I have such courageous appetite for these narratives of other people's brief encounters with death. Because it's actually very hard to live better. It's hard to practice compassion. It's even sometimes a challenge to remember to try. I'm overtaken by a similar aspiration when I read today's poem. Wait by John Freeman. The Poem Asks Me To contemplate the harm. I've done two others. It even urges me to go a step further and imagine what it would feel like if the effects of my cruel or hurtful artful actions were to be made public announced instantly by the site of me signaled even by the sound of me approaching. What would I do differently if I had to trudge through life with my karmic credit rating on permanent public display. It's hard hard to live better. It's hard to practice compassion. Today's poem reminds me that it is worthwhile to try. Why wait by John Freeman. What if each time you caused pain. A small small round stone was put in your pocket pebbles for inducing self-doubt Osmium for death. When you heard someone approach their pockets noisy you'd know just as dogs do to keep distance. Some men would pull wagons behind them. Their pants disfigured. They'd be shamed from sidewalks delayed at customs. They could could never lie flat on beds. They'd have to stand feeling the weight of what they've."