They say upon your death Memory presents herself in flowing robes covered over with events, places, and times, reminds you of a million things you forgot, and forgot you forgot; freed from her framework in your neurons, she attends you like a host to your own inner world, she shows you the roles of souls from your friends, the bits of their being they gave you in love, a living presence of each, to draw you towards their heaven, and they to yours, when the time is ripe. She shows you ethical secrets, that what was given was never lost, and what was tried had never failed; she holds everything misplaced, and shows many secrets of her own; she dazzles you with her ingenuity, with her secret dance with your mind, and the playful ruses and tender abuses she permitted herself to give to temper your ego and empower your will. Not even in that moment is she willing to tell you quite all, she bows back into your mind, after introducing Imagination, her mate.
Imagination has grown strong in all you dared create, in all the vistas you dared to look upon; none was lost on him, and now in your apotheosis, he sets forth new worlds, and dances before your eyes all those forms that formerly amused you. What you created on earth was realized in heaven, and all your attempts are mentioned and shown. A garden of art and creative relations, your children of mind and tokens of the children of your body. The power of creativity thus smiles your power back on you.
\ ~@M@~ /
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