Yes. It’s tough being dead. But life can be harder. A second shot at it anyway. I remember dying, finally letting go of life. Then next thing the sharp stink of rot, and cold going through me like a knife, and the tangle of winding cloths, and a thought in my head – ‘I’m dead’ – even as I knew I wasn’t, not any longer.
A sound of stone on stone grated through my confusion, and a shaft of light with dust dancing in it. Oh, and air that smelled of life and green things and growth. Flooded, I was, with fear and delight and surprise, every feeling you can imagine and none at all.
Then I heard his voice call my name: ‘Lazarus’. Yes, that’s me, still me. Can I move? Can I sit up? Does everything work again?