Walking home from the bank today, I walked by a poor dead ratly. It reminded me of when I was religious (Wiccan) and how then I would have cared for his soul and tended the body. I had walked several paces... when I turned and went back. The soul had never been important. There is no soul. The shabby echo that the rat's life had left behind still required respect though. There had been life. The rat was my kin. Far in the past, our shared ancestor longed for life the same as that rat, the same as I. I nudged the fading echo of his life under the ivy, to the gentle whispers of transformation.
I realized then that I am kin to the sky, to the ocean, to the tall trees reaching high, their branches stealing light before it hits those lives below them. I am star dust with enough snark to love the sky and want to dance among the stars.