Some cultures bury their dead, others burn them, others leave them exposed to the elements. (Some people in Tibet leave the corpses of their loved ones in the open air to be eaten by vultures. I quite like that. If there were vultures in England you could just leave me in the garden when the time comes, though the neighbours might not be too happy with the stench of rotting flesh. There are crows here, though. I guess that'll do. Crows gotta eat.)
In those cultures where dead people are buried in the ground it is customary to visit the graves. Obviously I understand perfectly well why people do that, but the thing is, you either believe we have a soul or you don't, and either way it is not going to be found in the grave, that's for sure. But mine is just an observation, not a criticism. Human beings have the capacity to think rationally but they don't always have the inclination to do so, and that includes me. Rationality is important, but sometimes there are other factors too.
The idea that, whether you're religious or not, the soul is not to be found in the grave is expressed beautifully in a lesser-known poem, and the history of that poem itself is actually quite interesting.
In 1989 24-year-old Stephen Cummins, a British soldier, was killed by an IRA bomb in Northern Ireland. Before dying (duh, he certainly didn't do it after dying) Cummins had left a letter in a sealed envelope to his parents, saying that it was to be opened only if something happened to him. The letter contained a poem, and it was clear that Stephen was not the author of the poem, though there was no mention of who the author was.
After the poem was read at Stephen Cummins' funeral, people started coming up with all sorts of possible authors, from obscure Romantic poets to Navajo shamans. Eventually it turned out that the poem was written in the 1930s by Mary Elizabeth Frye, a florist from Baltimore, Maryland.
Mary and her husband had a young Jewish woman staying with them, Margaret Schwarzkopf, a refugee from Germany. Margaret told Mary that she was really worried about her mother, who was ill and still living in Germany. When Margaret's mother died, a heartbroken Margaret told Mary that she never had the chance to stand by her mother's grave. That statement really moved Mary, and inspired her to write a poem, which she said just came to her in one go.
The poem itself was never published, but Mary did circulate it among her friends, who also spread it around. Eventually it gained a certain popularity, and a few people, in the US, started reading it at funerals. I guess we'll never know how Stephen Cummins came across that poem. Anyway, here it is. I think both religious and non-religious people can take something from it. You can either see it as a celebration of life after death, or of the fact that the atoms that make us have always existed and always will.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die.
