Dear Child, it is not your time.

My sweet child, gem of my heart, listen closely to the stories I am about to tell you.

I sit beside your bed. You sleep in that nearly unreachable space beyond the present life. The professionals claim and I choose to believe that you can hear me.

Perhaps you can’t understand all that I will tell you. I will tell simple stories of choices and consequences, of good and evil. I will ramble on about philosophy and religion and politics. I hope some of it takes up a home somewhere in your consciousness.

It is the seventh day since we lost you to the depths of the dream world. It’s a day of rest for us who would know more than you have seen. A day here is defined as one rotation of the earth in relationship to our local star, the sun. A solar day.

If we sat on our solar system as it travels though the neighborhood in our part of the galaxy, a day might be the twenty-four thousand year period that it takes to make that elliptical journey. If we sat on our galaxy as it take a long cyclical journey of the eons in relationship to other galaxies in the universe that could also be a day.

Since time is relative to one’s perspective, only fools argue about the length of time grand cycles require. A day is relative to one’s perspective. You are impacted by our solar days.