Back in the Bardo

Soon I will be only a story
But the same is true of you.
I hope the bardo will not be empty
But people do not yet know where they live.
Past and future all mixed together,
Let those trapped birds out the window!
What then remains? The stories you no longer
Believe. You had better believe them.
While you live they carry the meaning.
When you die they carry the meaning.
To those who come after they carry the meaning.
You had better believe in them.
In Rumi's story he saw all the worlds
As one, and that one, Love, he called to and knew,
Not Muslim or Jew or Hindu or Buddhist,
Only a Friend, a breath breathing human,
Telling his boddhisattva story. The bardo
Waits for us to make it real.