There was a stretch on Route 181, listening to music and driving through the old mill towns, feeling old enough to say they remind me of my youth, when I felt that surge of aliveness that rides alongside death. The two go hand-in-hand. We do not know what the next moment will bring. If we’re lucky, we have passions and the fire and grace to see them in action. Is it a privilege to take the next breath? Yes. Every day is a dance with death. Feel the ground beneath your feet, or your hands, or your belly. Push away what doesn’t serve you, root down into and reach up towards the fruit. Some golden orb is buried in your belly. I want to see it shine.