>Yeah. I mean, I don't know how many of you have had a loved one die,
>but I just don't think that I could stand having them *all* die, and
>me just be young and spry.

There's that.

> And I'm not so selfish that I would give
>all of my friends and family an immortality treatment. That, and
>we're out growing the earth as is, so until he have more area for
>living space, I just don't see why I should trouble us with one more
>person.)

That too.

And I've already had a loved one die; I shan't recount that here, but I know that there will be others in the future, and that they shall grow with frequency as I grow older. But that's not even it.

There's two driving forces, I think, that determine when one is ready to die: there's the eagerness for new experiences, and the weariness of life. There's many things yet that I want to accomplish in my life; some are specific, and, as such, readibly achievable; others are more vague and indistinct. So I'm not ready to die. Yet already my soul is weary and tired; I can feel it at times, like I've been through this so many times already and I accept the necessity of repetition for the sake of rare novelty. Some day, perhaps far off in the future, perhaps much closer than I could possibly realize, my weariness will have outgrown my eagerness, and I'll be ready hang it up and rest in whatever lies beyond, whether it's the Summerlands or Valhalla or a great sweat lodge or whatever else it might be. I believe -- no, more than believe, I know -- that while this life is its own, a self-contained experience, the essence that defines me will return again, to once again partake in the ebb and flow of the waking world.

I'm not at all afraid of dying. I'm just not ready for it yet.

-- Sean --

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