Birth And Death - What Could Be

In The Broad Sense, As A Processing Of Everything One Hears Or Witnesses, All Fiction Is Autobiographical - Imagination Ground Through The Mill Of Memory. It's Impossible To Separate The Two Ingredients.

Loss Is Essential, Loss Is Part And Parcel Of That Necessary Calamity Called Life. Mind You, I'm Not Complaining. Thanks To Some Inexplicable Universal Guiding Force, It Is Always The Worthless Things We Lose - Slough Off, Like A Moulting Snake. Losing And Losing Again, Is The Very Basis Of The Process, Til All We Are Left With Is The Bare Essence Of Human Existence.

I Think A Lot About The Past, It's True. But At My Age, The Past Is More Present Than The Here And Now. And There Is Not Much Percentage In The Future.

In The End, It’s All A Question Of Balance.

If Time Were A Bolt Of Cloth,” Said Om, “i Would Cut Out All The Bad Parts. Snip Out The Scary Nights And Stitch Together The Good Parts, To Make Time Bearable. Then I Could Wear It Like A Coat, Always Live Happily.