it's silly but i've been thinking a lot about dying lately. maybe a little too much. i've been thinking about my life and if i would feel like i had lived enough, learned enough, fulfilled my mission. i don't know. i don't think so. i'm only 35. i haven't even had my own family. i haven't fulfilled the call to be a helper, a healer. there's so much more self mastery i need to work on, so much more to understand.

i've been thinking about what i would care about the most if i found out i was dying. i think i would care the most that each of my beloveds would know how much i love them. also i would want to know that they would carry me in their hearts and lives. i would care about meaningfulness. i would care about making a difference. not necessarily on grand scales obvious to everyone, but most importantly on individual life scales. doesn't everyone feel this?

i thought about stuff and how meaningless it becomes from the perspective of dying. not just stuff either but lots of the every day survival stuff and petty worries. imagined the pile of my stuff after i'm gone and how it would have no value. i wouldn't miss one single thing.

i thought about how dying really isn't something to be scared of, how dying is going home. i've wondered what i would do with the time left to me and how many projects and things i'd want to fit in and complete before i left. realized that now is the time for projects before it's too late.

i suppose this may seem very morbid to some. i also look at myself naked in the mirror and look myself over objectively (well as objectively as possible). i always want to be sure of what's there--good or bad. maybe this is like that. in any case i feel like morrie from tuesdays with morrie was right. contemplating death teaches you how to live.

ps. regarding my last post. i don't think i was clear that those slips of notes and drawings and love are things i'll keep forever--it's only things like the block of wood and the flea bitten bear on my bed that i don't understand keeping.