This morning, I was thinking about death. Death in every second, it kept repeating in my mind. I’m sure I heard that somewhere at some point, or read it. But there’s something that happens sometimes, with things I’ve heard or read or thought a million times. The million and first time, something clicks, something I already knew, but didn’t know I knew.

(This is what it means to say that a prerequisite for enlightenment is enlightenment. There’s no learning anything new, no adding anything that wasn’t already there.)

Sometimes I find things I wrote when I was very young, and am amazed at what I “understood” then. I had no idea I knew this then, I’ll think to myself, that I even *thought* about this issue then. But the truth is, I didn’t even have the same mind to read my own writing when I wrote it, however many years ago. Even the meaning of my own words is constantly changing. I don’t know what I know. I don’t know what I knew then, and I don’t know what I know now. I’m not really the one doing the knowing.

I’ve never really been afraid of dying. Maybe this is because I’m young, but it’s not because I’m fearless. There are some things I’m terrified of, particularly hurting other people. I never learned how to drive when I was teenager, not because I was afraid of getting in a wreck and dying, but because I was afraid of getting in a wreck and killing someone. I still haven’t learned, and I don’t want to. Everyone is always telling me how much fun driving is, how I would feel so free and independent. But my independence isn’t worth that much to me.

But then, this morning, I was thinking, death in every second. What if I really kept that in mind, all the time? It is true; I could die. Any second. Any breath could be the last one. I have no idea what could happen. But living in the light of this is not being afraid, it’s being awake. Death in every breath is what makes life precious and beautiful. Without death, life would have no meaning. It’s so obvious, but this is a practical thing, a practice. If I could regularly practice thinking of each breath as the last one, I’m certain I wouldn’t waste as much time.

It is true that time is an illusion, but it’s still possible to waste time, I think, and it’s a real tragedy. A paradox.

There are things that matter. Where you take that last breath matters. Who you take it with matters. I know what it is to breathe into someone else, and it is significant. We can breathe into others, we can breathe for others. Others can breathe into and for us.

I moved from NYC to Portland, Oregon, recently. Portland is a place that can’t really be explained unless its been experienced. It’s a cool city, yes, and cool people live here, but there’s more than that. There is a web the connects everything, Indra’s net, the Spirit, some sort of gossamer shimmering something. It’s always there, and sometimes we can see it. We’ll often notice some strange coincidence that makes it visible, even if only briefly. There is something about Portland that makes the web easier to see. Just walking down the street, browsing in an antique store, talking to strangers at a cafe or on the bus, you can see the connections. And everyone who has lived here for some time knows it, even though they might not know they know it. You might ask someone here what he loves about Portland, and he might say any number of things. One of the people I asked recently said, There’s a lot of grace in Portland.

I smiled at him. It’s really true. I want to stay here as long as I can, I keep telling all my friends. But it’s enough that I’m here now, possibly taking my last breath, in Portland, right now.