Death is not the end, it's merely another transformation your body undergoes.

Impermanence is not erasure — in the logic of oneness, nothing is ever subtracted from the universe, only rearranged. The atoms that briefly cohered as a body do not vanish; they loosen, scatter, and are taken up again by moss, by soil, by the slow machinery of stars. We tend to picture death as a wall, but the universe keeps no walls, only thresholds. A wave does not die when it meets the shore; it simply stops pretending it was ever separate from the sea. If the ending was always a continuation wearing another mask, what is it in us that insists on being afraid?