Other Genius: sharing the prodigy of people we know… { I share his views on ‘the afterlife’ and its most probable ‘location’: “heaven” is living places, beings and their ways… } “I’ve had people staring at me with their mouths hanging open, terrified at the idea that I believe my “afterlife” won’t be in a happy heaven somewhere, but instead may be right here—in some woods somewhere, or in some mountain, or on the side of some river. That I might be inside the ground that I’m standing on right now- like I’m really missing out by not flying away to the infinite, glowing white heights where divine powers live and harps are playing all the timeless time. Like I’m just not setting my sights high enough, not getting to “go” far enough. My eyes cross in my head. I have to rub the area between my eyes, tired, actually. Yes, I’m okay merging with this land, being a ghost who haunts this very forest, or that outcropping of rock over there. There’s no way I want to go to the Promethean heights where the rest of the obnoxious people like them might be, trying to master the harp and singing all the time. Birdsong will do me fine.” — @[100003619947738:2048:Robin Artisson]

Other Genius: sharing the prodigy of people we know…

{ I share his views on ‘the afterlife’ and its most probable ‘location’: “heaven” is living places, beings and their ways… }

“I’ve had people staring at me with their mouths hanging open, terrified at the idea that I believe my “afterlife” won’t be in a happy heaven somewhere, but instead may be right here—in some woods somewhere, or in some mountain, or on the side of some river. That I might be inside the ground that I’m standing on right now- like I’m really missing out by not flying away to the infinite, glowing white heights where divine powers live and harps are playing all the timeless time. Like I’m just not setting my sights high enough, not getting to “go” far enough.

My eyes cross in my head. I have to rub the area between my eyes, tired, actually. Yes, I’m okay merging with this land, being a ghost who haunts this very forest, or that outcropping of rock over there. There’s no way I want to go to the Promethean heights where the rest of the obnoxious people like them might be, trying to master the harp and singing all the time. Birdsong will do me fine.”

— Robin Artisson