Calling Time

"Last drinks please, ladies and gentlemen; it is time."

The emphasis was always squarely on the last word in this sentence I have called out in bars late at night on more occasions than I care to remember; "... it is time." Very often tapping my wristwatch held aloft, for those doing their thinking solely visually at this stage.

I'm calling last drinks on life today (Thursday, my time); as of tonight my feeds will all have run out, and the only thing of any caloric value I will imbibe is a little kefir if I need it tomorrow and the day after as my stomach gets used to being empty.  Last drinks. It's time. The end of counting is nigh.

So in some ways it's all about time again. I'm sure that my journey into the nature of that very stuff, the actual experience of time passing that we call life, will continue to change right up until there is no more of it in the sense I know and measure a breath at a time in this busted old broken-ass body; the vessel of me that St Francis of Assissi used to disparagingly refer to as 'Brother Donkey.'

Why now? I don't know.  There are a hundred reasons why now is the right time, but it's not their force put together as an argument that makes this right.  It is not any single main thing, nor has there been some irrevocable tipping point reached; this is not a flailing bid to avoid being pushed by some circumstance, and nor is it a desperate attempt to reassert at least some control over my own destiny at any cost. There is an element of every feeling in this moment.  Perhaps one of the more compelling factors is that there really is no reason against it.  It is most certainly not the 'wrong' time to die. It is just time. The right time. I say this grounded firmly, sound of mind and spirit, and believing myself to be clearly interpreting what is right in a Divine sort of sense, as well as a mundane one. That this decision is as much guidance from Godhead (whatever, etc) and my 'self'. And now you know too.

I've known for a few days, but needed to be a little more inward with things about it before letting the bigger world in on it.  You know, special moments with Meeta, and practical considerations like getting advice on medication changes and so on from my doc were important things for example.

What happens next?  I don't know.  Physically for me, I have some idea of what to expect and I shan't burden you here with details or speculation for it's all only probabilities anyway.  You can google things like life expectancy without nutrition and then guess wildly how my particulars will fall into the bell curves of probability and prognoses.  It's measured in weeks and days, not months and weeks. That's a good framework, if you need one.

Will I keep writing? How will you know when I'm gone?  To the first question I'd say probably, a little bit. I don't know.  Maybe not.  To the second I can tell you a few things:

You know I have arranged with one special friend to look after my online affairs upon my demise (and I am thankful for this every time I think of it) and she will put up a blog post here that I have pre-prepared, and post a link on Facebook, etc.  At least, that is the plan.  Then later there will be funeral details as they become firm, and then one last post including the last few words of mine which I am having read at the funeral, so that those unable to make it can read that too.  The blog will stay here, until entropy eventually claims it too, is the plan.

The funeral?  Of course you are invited, if you wish to pay your respects in that way.  I do not expect that many of you here shall make it of course, living as my social circle seems to all around the globe (what a world, eh?) and my having long ago shed a face-to-face surrounding of many friends and acquaintances, as once I had.  You will be able to RSVP via the blog post later, I am sure my online 'oops buddy' will make proviso there etc.

It will be a natural burial, almost certainly at Northam Cemetery (in fact I can see the very plot from my balcony here, a few degrees East of the roof of my house) a few days after my death.  I shall be wrapped in my favourite natural-dyed alpaca/llama wool poncho from Bolivia, in a new type of non-toxic recycled cardboard coffin, unembalmed, all of that.  That is the plan.

Please do not send flowers.  Meeta will look after the floral stuff for the day, and if you are attending, you will see that I ask you later to bring a spray of leaves or a small branch from your garden or a plant you love nearby to hold ans use on the day.  More on that in time, nothing needs your attention now.  If you wanted to pass a message on to Meeta or the others of my extended family, the blog post comment section will be open once the post is up, and any messages you leave will be able to be seen by others.  My oops buddy will make arrangements for anyone who wishes to send something more privately; see the post on the day.  For those who do wish to contribute the natural burial fund will remain open for a little while now only (see link above to the right), and any funds received in excess of need for the expenses of my interrment will be used wisely, well and charitably for the good of the rest of our planet, be assured.  After all, that's what this is all about isn't it?  Going back around. Honouring the cycles. Giving back to nature. Letting the entropy be equal to the light in our hearts and minds.

So that's it folks, that's all I wanted to say right now, so everyone knows.

Good night for now, then.

I trust this message finds you peaceful and well, and that your life today has extra love in it.
Thank you for having been here thus far.
Thank you for being here now.