I thought about death the other day. Now, I have thought about death before, but those have been more or less mere theoretical speculations. This time, it was the specter of the inevitable, that which we will all face sometime in the days and nights we have on this world. I don't know why it came up in my mind, but there it was: the image of me lying on the last bed I'd ever lie on, letting the last of this life go: death. Interestingly enough, I was at peace with it. Maybe I'll feel different when it is more of an imminent thing, but for now, I am okay with its total release, to see what's on the other side. What can a man feel but this? We none of us will live forever, all of us share in this last thing, this finality.
I have a lot I want to do before I go. But there is a little faith in me, something that tells me that I will get done all that I need in the time allotted me in this life. It might not be all I think I need do, or perhaps I may even accomplish more than I dream, but in my heart, I believe that the days given me will be enough. It is not to say that at the end, I won't think life too short, but in the grand scheme of it all, the balance book of my existence will amount to what destiny had in mind for me from the beginning. One may hope only that when you lie on your deathbed, you may look back on the life that you've lived and see a life lived well, one that seized the day when it could, a life lived deep in life.
me?!