Life is short, short.

And we are here to love each other, love as an action verb, caring and devotion in motion. We are here to build a web of connections, one to another to another to the next, all encompassing, wrapping around the whole world, the Universe, becoming the God-thing that each of us is part of but forgets so very often.

Aunt Helen, who spent three decades trying, just succeded in drinking herself to death.

Life is short, short. Even eighty-eight years is short. When you make it to your eighty-eighth birthday, only to draw your last breath and exit without kissing your sisters, eighty-eight years is somehow years, months, days...perhaps only minutes...too short.

And if I should exit the planet in the next few years, months, days, minutes, will everyone who knows me know that I love them with all the fullness of my heart, with all the power of the Universe, with all the depth of the divine, and all the breadth of diversity? I hope. I hope.