I was in a hill-top cemetery with my reporter’s notepad and bag. I had just covered a story of some sort, or accomplished some task. “It’s time to go,” says my guide whose face is above mine.
The only exit from the cemetery is lane heading north. When I approach it I notice oncoming traffic of uprooted tombstones of all shapes and sizes whizzing past me like cars on a freeway.
They leave behind graves that turn into light and then vanish.
“They are moving on up,” says my guide when he sees me eyeing the tombstones. “They’ll be gone soon enough, it’s best wait until the traffic has stopped before venturing down that path.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I say to him. “I want to go with them ”
I step into the traffic, and am immediately swept up into a powerful gust of energy. Sensing every feeling, experience and hope of each stone.
I quickly realise it’s not my turn to go with them and quickly step away from the queue.