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I know this is off the point,but as I was sitting around this morning (3-4am) and thinking about the day I just had, I thought I'd share it with the rest of you. Yesterday I was working at a school-sponsored flea market (doing my "Junior-class Advisor" duties), when a shopper collapsed due to an apparent heart attack or stroke. When someone told me about it, I ran over to see if I could help (being CPR certified). When I arrived there, there was a doctor and a nurse already working on the gentleman (they just happened to be around).
I did my best to clear the area from the on-lookers.
Anyway, to make a long story short, I watched this man in his late 50s die. Now, I have seen enough dead people in my life to satisfy me, but I have never seen anyone die in front of me before. Even as the EMTs shocked him several times with no affect, I thought they would revive him. The paramedic said doubted if the guy would make it since he had been "flat-lined" for four-five minutes.
The point is life is too short, and that realization is ever so close for me, now that I have been witnessed to such an event.

Sorry to bore you all with this, but I think that everyone can see what I'm saying (at least in a round-about way).

Yours in Budo,

Mike

Mike ,

It is sobering isn't it ? Nothing puts us in touch so closely with our own mortality as when we see someone die ! And yet the following makes sense:

" The fear of death often proves mortal and sets people on methods , to save their lives , which infallibly destroys them ; people throwing themselves into the arms of death by endeavoring to escape it "

Live life ,

Van Canna

Mike,

I saw some people die as a teen. I worked in the emergency room through college and saw more people die of natural and unnatural causes. None of these deaths really struck home.

My father died shortly after I got out of college. That hit hard. And it seemed like a string of other people I cared about or people related to those I care about began to die. These deaths were REAL and I struggled to accept.

I look at my father's death now as a lesson. He died at a relatively young age of 57. I accept that death is always there. Rarely a day goes by that I don't think of my father and death -- his and mine someday. Funny, I used to focus on the sadness of his passing. More now I focus on his legacy to me and my siblings. I think of my own legacy to my children. I think if I were to die today or tomorrow, will I have I done as well I can for and with them. I been told this is morbid... I don't think so. Death makes me aware of and not take for granted life.

Self-reflection... Yes.

david

It is truly amazing how there seems to be a collective consciousness at times. Last week I had a best friend's mother die (I consider that woman to be like my mother). Going to her wake was quite the cathartic process. Then I discovered another young, close friend who lived a clean life and is a remarkable asset to society in so many ways is suffering from metastatic lung cancer. It is so bad that I was asked to help write the obituary. I will not jinx the hope that is left by mentioning this person's name.

One of my more favorite movies is Dead Poet's Society. In it, the character played by Robin Williams brings his new literature students to a room on the campus of this old boarding school that is replete with photos of students past. It reminded me so much of some of the places at Phillips Exeter, and the character played by Robin was very much like some of my teachers. Robin tells the students to stare at these ancient pictures of young boys - who are now food for worms - and listen very carefully. Then he whispers "Carpe diem! Carpe diem! Sieze the day!"

One of my favorite ties is a piece of work that I bought at Structure. It has carpe diem written on it in a number of places. The cherubs that are intertwined from one end to the next certainly look like they are wasting no opportunities. I am never ashamed to wear this to even the most serious meeting at work or with customers.

[This message has been edited by Bill Glasheen (edited 12-07-98).]

Okay,

I'll personalize my thoughts a little more. My aunt (my father's sister) died yesterday. This is around the same time my father died over 15 years ago. My father's mother died severals years after that around this time.

My sister is currently "living" and fighting cancer.

Sieze this moment!!! There may not be many after...

david

Collective consciousness? Ok - it can stop any time now!!! Our dojo lost a dear friend last week - my sempai - my friend. The first friend, and the first close fellow-karateka I have ever lost. Cut down at the ripe old age of 44 from cancer. And until this moment I was refraining from mentioning it on any of these forums - having already gone through the emotional wrenching of writing a memorial to him on our own dojo webpage...enough was enough. And then this collective consciousness rears its dark hooded head...

It is true - faced with death of one close to us - by blood, love (or even just in physical proximity!) has a way of making us face our own mortality - never knowing when our "number" is up, all we can do is make sure that our affairs are in order to the best of our ability - give to our children and our family NOW what we really wish them to have of us - our feelings, our teachings, our hopes, our dreams. And face life forward with intentions of appreciating every taste, smell, touch, sight and sound while we are still able - for too soon, all too soon, the dark spectre reaches out to escort us onward...

I read once in a book of Tibetan philosophy that there is a belief that with with every exhalation - we die - with every inhalation - we are re-born. Each breath gives us a moment to face our mortality - and a chance to start anew - no regrets. Are we up to the challenge?

This may belong in the creative forum - but bear with me - It is my favorite by Pushkin - and it seems fitting here...

<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>It is time friend, time.
For peace the spirit aches.
Day chases day, each passing moment rakes
away a grain of life.
While we, you and I,
would rather have lived on -
lo, all at once we die.
Here happiness is not --
but peace and freedom are.<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Peace - tenuous that it is,
Lori