The Luniferous Gazette Issue 5: Planning My Afterlife as an Ash Diamond

From the day I was born, my destiny was already sorted like pearls knotted evenly on a string. My birth religion was the main branch of Mormonism, after all. “The Plan of Salvation” told me everything essential about the before time and afterglow of my existence. I truly cherished it and many of my ancestors died believing in the plan with “every fiber of their being,” as the old saying goes.

I broke out some fancy marbles from my sewing chest hoard to illustrate this schedule in simplified terms:  

I was taught that every person will earn entrance into one of these heavenly levels or three degrees of glory (*outer darkness is surprisingly hard to get into). However, when I left my birth religion at age 33, I abruptly traded my identity as a divine spirit child for the ignominy of mortal speckhood. Worse, I found myself grieving my late mother’s sudden passing as if she’d suffered a second, more violent death. But this time, her loss felt irreparable.

The luminous certainty drilled into my skull about heavenly tiers and paradisiacal futures had utterly evaporated from my faithless fibers. My mother used to joke about getting “twinkled” (a religious expression that refers to a mortal body changing into an immortal one in the “twinkling of an eye”). Yet I was no longer so sure whether she had a soul, or even a gossamer scrap of a ghost in this universe—any traces at all besides a container of leftover dust sitting on my desk!

I agonized over wondered whether my own brief corporealization mattered, or if my human existence was all just a dash of chance and a smidge of dead star DNA. Many of the poems in Tangible Creatures alternate between pleading with this question or stubbornly defying it. This is one of my favorites . . . 

Luster

Some say “soul” like one syllable

Can outlast eternity, or carve

A monument from meaning that

No wind could grind down to grit—

A single grit, perfect and worldly,

Entire as heart of priceless pearl.

There is none such pearl in me—

No hiding space for soul where organ,

Blood and breath beat a hot symphony

In the now. Even now ultimate cold inches

Deeper inside, my matter graying to dust

As sun cools and galaxies pull apart,

Dear universe winking out lights in spent dark.

Why fear the fate of all starlit creatures,

Imagine some endless on, some sky with different

Stars than those that forged me today?

Keep hollow soul stuff away from me—

I must glory in this day, treasure those I am

Always losing, grow my heavens here because

This meager luster of time . . . is only mine.

 *“Luster” (2019). Fresh Ink. 50, 40.

These days, I consider myself more of an optimistic nihilist. While I make no claim on the verity of heavens or hells, I get a peculiar satisfaction in outlining the details of my own afterlife. More specifically, in planning a scintillating afterdeath for my mortal husk. Both of my little sisters have informed me that they prefer green burials in a forest on the East Coast. Very admirable and eco-conscious, I applaud them. They’ll make some mushrooms very happy.

Me? Ash diamond. Take my carcass and carbonize it!

I’ve already picked out a promising company. Ever Dear offers a thrilling array of cremation diamonds, with faceted options ranging from a daring trillion or hexagon cut to classics like heart and brilliant. Oh, not to mention seven of the “most desirable diamond colors.” There was never any doubt as to my chosen color—PINK. Rosacea already tints my cheeks, and groves of cherry blossoms bloom in the happiest corners of my mind.

It only seems fitting that I achieve an alternate route to getting twinkled by ensuring my tiny shiny status as a pink diamond. It’s relatively affordable compared to a casket burial. The average direct cremation cost is $1000 to $1500 dollars, and turning a portion of my cremains into a modest .40 to .49 carat diamond would be a $2200 add-on. I’m not yet sure if I want to be immortalized in a pear cut like a frozen tear, or maybe a marquise like a precious seed from Eve’s apple, or perhaps a heart like a secret wish—

Whatever my final facet, I do hope I’m not stuffed in a posh velvet box. Set me on a windowsill to glitter fiercely in my eternal aura.

Perhaps these post-life contemplations seem ridiculous, but with every breath I take in our burning, drowning, grief-torn world, I can already taste the ash staining my soul. And even with my diamond plans in play, there’s no guarantee that some natural or manmade disaster won’t prevent me from achieving the pink clarity of perfection. Sometimes, tragedy strikes and wills and wishes are discarded and lost by cruel circumstances. But a girl can dream, right? Welcome to my prismatic paradise.

As I don’t have children, I like to imagine that one day my diamondiferous sliver might end up in an estate sale or a secondhand store, my human identity and name utterly forgotten by time. Perhaps I could become someone’s unexpected thrift score?

Now that would tickle me pink! 

*Rest in sparkle.

Faerie INK 

 "Dear Voracia" is a magical phenomenon! The mysterious dragon columnist has been dispensing her wise admonitions and lethal stratagems for over a millennium now. Not sure if you should buy a cursed needle or a poison apple to hex your enemies? Arguing with your significant other over whether to add armored newts or battle guppies to your castle moat? Wondering if a pair of glass slippers is a fair trade for your soul? Ask Madame V.

Correspondence #5

Dear Voracia,

I am the eldest twin by a mere sixty seconds. My birth was supposed to fulfill a glorious prophecy heralding me as "the Chosen One." I was actually destined to be a supreme sorceress! But my fairy godmother Goldelia Nitwing got mixed up at the christening and blessed my younger twin sister instead of me with all the magical powers.

My parents tried to cover up the scandalous mishap by switching our names and making my younger sister the heiress to everything in the kingdom. Unfortunately, she's grown up to be a rather cruel and spoiled ruler with a whim for charmed destruction. No one can stop her with all those fey powers, least of all me.

But enchantress or not, I know that I am the true Crown Princess. What can I do to stop her rampage and reclaim the magic that was meant to be mine?

Sincerely,

De-Chosen One  

RE:

Dear De-Chosen One,

Alas, nothing but mayhem and mischief ever comes from anointing wee babes to a destiny they never had the chance to refuse!

However, in your case, might I suggest trying a Soul-Switch Spell to rectify the imbalance in fate? It wouldn't be difficult since you are already twins, and she has taken your true birth name.

But beware, should you trade bodies to reclaim your magical birthright, you could find yourself tempted by the very same wild passions that will lead to your own undoing.

Serendipitous wishes,

Voracia

 ~*~

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