Life in the Mist

Thick fog proceeded by silent mist crept and scurried in when I least expected it. The memories of people long gone yet these days they seem to be in my presence more. Why? I never really had the ability "to see dead people."
But I see them. They visit me a lot these days mostly laughing at me, sometimes they shout out single words like, "Ethic". I am not much of a soothsayer, I could have been but it's the reality and suck you in physicality of this the first and dumb world that draws those stupefied by aesthetics of solid form to it. And so I make no excuses I am a slave to the love of the pain and the ecstasy of it, the not knowing what will happen next of it.
I wonder if we take form just to partake in carnal pleasures, whether that is the attraction of leaving our misty ghosts of higher safety. That in the spirit form we cannot die and therefore cannot create and worse still, never experience the small deaths of ecstasy that we so yearn to experience with our loves, not often, just every moment we live.
But if death be the price of my life, then please let it be that, just death nothing dramatic. After all that was the deal.