As good as the headline is, the piece is even better — an essay about the actor’s afterlife plans that doubles as an elegy for privacy, nostalgia, and everything else we carry with us through this world.
His heart, inside his chest, inside the mushroom burial shroud, was pressed against the silty soil left behind by eons of flood cycles in what we now call Tennessee but that has only been known by that name for a short time. The soil teems with the organisms that will convert his death back into life. It will return—even now, is returning—back to the full embrace of the earth.
