Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'...

Death strikes.

It strikes young and old, sick and healthy, expectedly and unexpectedly.

It makes jokes of our plans, of our carefully orchestrated futures... We like to look and see what lies before us, but it doesn't. It is an illusion that the futures we paint for ourselves are going to be there. Even without death, our view of what is to come is Delphic, it is oracular (sorry, Dragon).

Add death into the mixture, and we go from the merely obscure to the truly unpredicatable.

And contrary to our views, death is always in the mixture - it is only that we do not see it.

Goodbye, Brandenn. I will not claim to have known you well, but perhaps I can at least apply lessons from your life to my own andor to others...

Postscript to Time...

laughingjudge quoted another writer, Yvette Cendes, who said:

"Ignoring a passion is not something anyone can do easily. It eats away at you, begging to be recognized, until one day you wake up realizing what a mistake you've made. You might return but you have lost precious time, and that is something you can never get back."

The previous entry sort of provides me with punctuation for this quote, a big

!

to remind me of unfinished business...

There is only so much time I, or you (any of you), can afford to yield. And we do not know what that amount of time is.

Tick, tick, tick...