If you stop and think about it, the minute you stop growing, you start dying. Your body, in it's early stages, grows and developes and becomes fully functional; when that stops, it begins to break down immediately. Most only contemplate 'dying' in the final stages of it's expression, when in reality, you are dying for most of your life, in a physical sense. Your body does all it can do delay the process, but, inevitably, it all fails at some point. You are literally fighting for your life your entire life, your body putting up it's defenses against time; stones in the glacier's path.

He who hears in the vast silence
He who wafts on the red wind
"In extremis"

The human condition is this: your body degrades, while the mind sharpens; until the point where both fail - "sans everything"

He who leaps across the precipice
He who steals pearls from the ashes

While thinking about this today, I laughed. We are so afraid of death, of dying; subconciously or otherwise, we fear it, we ignore it's notion, we supress it's tantalizing whisper, we jerk away from it's prospective caress. And yet, what we call life is the process of death.

"Ride si sapis"

Ars Moriendi means The Art of Dying; get it?

I shall rise again
Bardo of the flesh
So feast on me
All my bones are laughing
As you're dancing on my grave

That's what made me laugh; life is death, we live a process known as death all our lives. Life is an art, it is what makes this infintecimal blip of an existance on this infintecimal speck of dust worth it all, life. This art that I will call life is our pallette, our canvas, our sheet, our clay, our floor, our pad, it is what we make into that which is beautiful; which is hideous; which is hilarious; which is painful; which is tender; which is breathtaking; which is, above all, emotion. We live the art of dying.

Get it?

[Thank you, Trey]

'Ave atque vale'