From: Anders Sandberg Funeral in Suburbia It is embarrassingly obvious that the priest never knew him; he is spouting a conventional elegy for "a loving husband and father, a warm friend and popular co-worker...". At least once he mispronounced the name without noticing. I look around at the small group of people standing around the grave, shivering slightly in the cold autumn breeze. His family stands huddled on the opposite side, his daughter (wasnıt her name Tina or something?) holds her motherıs hand and cries constantly, her brother stands a little bit apart, staring fixedly into the grave. Beside them, the priest and a little old lady who might be a relation, its just our team present. He didnıt have that many friends. A cloud briefly hides the cold sun, as the priest finally intones "dust to dust...". Beyond the cemetery suburbia still shines, flecked with slowly gliding cloud-shadows. I know they are out there somewhere. Perhaps they sit celebrating in some den, laughing at the memory of how Jack killed the Man in Black with that freaky entropy effect. One small step towards Ascension. After the ceremony I walk up to his wife, saying something comforting and conventional, I donıt know what. She looks collected, but I see through her frail mask. I wish I could tell her what her husband really died for, the great vision, the Big Picture, but I cannot. She would not understand, and Iım not sure I know myself. I glance towards the flowers where one wreath stands out. It is shaped like a double moebius strip, the ribbon bearing the words "One world. One truth. One reality".