That I am and that I am not is a seeming. Life is a seeming just like its partner, death.
Rosaline, sitting on the branch of a huge tree, was collecting the passing clouds. Though friends with the clouds, she didn’t like to see them at night, maybe because she also collected stars.
The day-night cycle confused her. Grandma’s solution “you’ll understand it once you become a big girl” didn’t help Rosaline at all. And so she started living in different worlds – the bright blue sky world, the mischievous cloudy world, the paper-boat rainy world, the sparkling starry world, the moon pie world, the ghostly pitch-black world... Two worlds sometimes merged into one and formed something unique.
Whichever world Rosaline was in, she was always excited to live it fully. Happily, she always announced early in the morning “today I’ll be in the mischievous cloudy world’ or ‘give way to Rosaline, the moon pie world awaits her.” Lost in her myriad worlds, she lived madly. She even recorded her visits to these wonderful worlds. She was proud to be the youngest and the oldest member of her family, youngest by age and oldest by the visits she made to these worlds. On her 92nd visit to the crunchy autumn leaves world, she died. She fell from a huge tree. Her last words were ‘Grandma you need to plus 22 more worlds to break my record’.