As I entered this morning, I heard the voices of many children… playful, lively… but I could only see two children standing, relatively quietly, behind a gravestone. I looked to see where the many voices were coming from, and as my eyes searched, I saw little shadows moving, shifting behind the trees. The juxtaposition of death and the children playing between the trees, amongst the gravestones was slightly eerie, and one of the most poetic visual representations of human transience that I might have ever happened upon. The scene was both a reminder of the grim fragility of life, and the beautiful hope and possibility that it might be. It was a bit difficult to stop my mind wondering into thought in the moment, but I was late for a meeting and so I continued on my walk. The children’s voices gently faded into the background as I walked along the path. As my steps progressed, the children’s playful laughter melted into a snoring sound. Again, I couldn’t identify where the sound was coming from, until I saw an older man, hunched over on a bench ahead of me. The closer I drew to him, the louder the snoring became. I thought to myself, ‘How curious is it that one would sink into such a deep sleep in a cemetery?’ I walked past the sleeping man, thought back to the children playing earlier, and wondered to myself for a moment: How often does one walk through a live play on the stages of life and the gently sloping levels of consciousness?