Sometimes I get irritated…irritated at the shifting nature of reality.  Change, always change, like quicksilver…when I think I have it, it morphs, chameleon-like into something else.  People I knew in my youth have grown grey, wrinkled.  I expect people to act the same, but they don’t.  Why do I have to constantly readjust my way of thinking about things?  Why can’t I rest, complacent, comforted by the thought that at last I have it.  Why am I always knocked about by that irritating, shifting veil (Maya) out there?  Why do I always have to be on my toes, ready to dodge the next encounter?  Why must…I change?

And yet I have met people who don’t seem to change.  They live out their lives stuck in an ancient mode, ossified…inflexible…  Are they happier this way?

I just read this:  “They say that the moment of death can be terrifying, especially when it comes suddenly and one is unprepared. No one wakes up in the morning and thinks, today I will die in an accident, today I’ll be murdered, but one never knows. So prepare. In order to meet death consciously and with a composed mind, begin each day with a death poem.”