We finally made it the One of Kind Show. I was exhausted for some reason, woke up in the afternoon and insisted we go. Let us not miss this opportunity. We got there, rented and electric scooter and rolled inside. The scooter was the best thing we did. I even took my oxygen tank to emphasize the point.  We lasted about 2.5 hours at the show, then made our way home.

I was amazes at the rudeness of people regarding the use of the scooter. Some cut you off, others made comments just loud enough for you to hear, others did not get out of the way. All very interesting, and unnecessary. To make matters worse, it was a terrible show. I was standing in front of a painting at one point when another vendor showed up and the started talking about this that and another including the show itself. I stayed there for quite a while admiring the painting, but no one came to ask me if I wanted to buy it. I was not about to get out of my chair. Not the easiest thing to do. I left.

I have been knocked out for the couple of days. The doctors have reassured Janet that the show is the reason. I am eating well, and drinking not bad. One does not go from eating to dead overnight. Janet woke me up this afternoon to eat. It was very difficult for me to even open my eyes. Same thing this evening. Come down for dinner. Could barely open my eyes, so stayed in bed. Could have easily stayed asleep all night.

I woke up around 11:30, suddenly awake and lots of energy. Janet decided I should take advantage of the energy to update the blog since so many people are concerned by the lack of communication.

I must say it is a very strange feeling that I am going through. Quite scary on one level, well, on any level you can possibly imagine. Not sure where any of it is going. Janet keeps asking me what is going on. The simple answer is I am dying and all the thoughts and tribulations that go along with that. Sounds like a simple process, but get complicated really fast, and really does not explain everything. Is this a waiting game? Wake up in the morning and just sit around and wait to see what happens?

After my exceptionally brilliant piece on people visiting me, we are are finding ourselves cancelling visits. Cannot handle the conversation. We have at the very least, curtailed visits, limiting them to something we think we can handle. All very confusing to us, let alone to those wishing to grace us with the presence.

The blog is helping a lot with thinking through things. I have a visit with my psychiatrist this Friday, see how that goes. I am looking forward to it. There are a number of thoughts going through my head that are linked to the legacy post which I have promised and yet to deliver. It is coming, I promise. Have to get the thoughts in order. getting more complicated as we move forward.

The blog is getting very big, and we are running into technical issued. You may find it down sometimes. The techs are doing their best to keep it up and running. I am also trying to find a podcast from a CBC interview that talks about the fact that we shuld be preventing cancer, and not cure it since there is not cure for it. I have mentioned that many time before, but he has accreditations behind his name which makes him an authority so we have to listen to him. Yeah for accreditations.

All this to say I appear to be good. Blood pressure where it should be, blood counts where thy aught to be. We will get past this exhaustion thing as well. We are also going to try and get a handicap sticker for the car. I guess we can use the oxygen as the excuse. It will be good to have one. You get access to all the handicap parking spots, and can park just about anywhere you want. I am not driving any more. Do not trust the reflexes. I may also not be able to lift my feet to reach the brake pedals fast enough. Janet can take advantage of it.

All for now.  Good night.

First and foremost: No flowers. Let me myself really clear on this subject. My funeral will probably be a winter affair. Nothing better than a bout of freezing weather to kill a beautiful flower. Some like to bring a rose and toss it on the casket. Please don’t. Waste of a rose. Keep the rose at home. No Flowers. Can I make this any clearer? No flowers.

Contributions: Please contribute something to your favorite charity. Please do not give to any of the cancer associations. They have enough money. They are spending it, by and large, in the wrong places. Fighting, conquering, finding a cure, for something that should not be fought, and cannot be cured. The language is wrong. The goals misplaced.  Please give to a charity of your choice.

Planting: Trees. Plant trees. Somewhere, anywhere. Fruit trees are best. They announce themselves with a bevy of flowers in the spring, provide us with lovely fruit later in the season. Plant some in schools in your neighborhood. The students could use the education and beauty. My personal preference would be for sour or wild cherries. The top layer of fruits feed the birds and squirrels. The bottom layer we get to pick. Little maintenance required.

Funeral Arrangements: These are almost complete. MC is chosen and has accepted his role very gracefully. The opening prayer will be chanted by Taravat, prayer for the dead will be read by my sister in law Barbara. Nancy and Diana would like to say a couple of words. I have to select someone to read the closing prayer. Frank Cummings, the MC, has control over everything else. If anyone else wants to say something, please speak up and we will add you to the program. Look forward to seeing you all there.

Date: December 2003

Location: West End, Roatan Island, Honduras

Story: Took Peter to scuba dive. Roatan Island is a major scuba diving location. David and Judy accompanied me for the drive. Would you really trust this building to be safe? Stunning location.

I have also not provided you with an update of my situation. Things are moving at a rapid rate. Not the death rattle, just changes in the body and the mind. When discussing matters with doctors, I have to be careful to note that what we are talking about is taking place over the matter of days. No pain means since last time we spoke, nothing longer.

Our meeting with the angelic Dr. Hedley has now been well documented and read. My care has been moved to Palliative at the Princess Margaret Hospital. The best part of palliative is that they are totally focused on quality of life. Nothing else really matters at this point. Eat what you what, drink what you want, do not, under any circumstances be in pain.

Pain is not good for you at any time. The doctors, from the very beginning have made it very clear that pain is not something to be bourne. It has to be controlled. We have a tendency to think we should be manly and bear the pain. Good for the soul, builds character, makes a man out of you. Chin up, pull up your socks. What every single doctor and nurse tells you is the opposite. Get rid of your pain immediately. The body cannot and will not heal as long as it dealing with the pain. It cannot. Killing the pain might mask the symptoms. Mask away. The body needs time to heal. Get rd of the pain short term, heal, get off the pills.

Palliative is big on pain relief. Most of my conversations with everyone begins with are you in pain? The answer is really I have no idea. I have pain killers that are taking care of that for me, thank you very much. When in pain, take more pills. Most of my pain comes in the middle of the night when the liver decides to wake me up. I take a 2mg dose of a morphine derivative called Dilauded, and one Extra Strength Tylenol. Relief comes within thirty minutes. Unless I have a lot of thoughts churning, I am usually asleep asleep soon after the thirty minutes. Other nights are like this one, were I get up and do something.

I take a 3mg dose of Dilauded twice a day. Along with some steroid and a stomach calmer so the drugs do not damage my stomach lining. That seems to do the trick most days. Hardly a heavy dose of anything. Everyone seems a bit surprised I do not need more pain killers. I also take a couple of table spoons of Luctalose, an over the counter drano for the body. I take those three times a day. All of this is directed to my liver. The Luctalose helps the drain with its cleaning duties flushing things out. Appears to work. No constipation that I know of.

The liver is an interesting organ. More so at this point of my life. It is charged with keeping the system clean. It seems to be performing that right now to an amazing degree. It inflames, specially if I get upset over anything. That effect has been well documented, both in the world of science, and by my now fragile body. Lying on my left side is the worst, since the liver flops over and puts pressure on everything. Right is better. Back is the best, but there are only so many hours I can spend on my back. Really boring after a while. I groan when I roll around, which is not good. Keeps waking up Janet. I can hear her breathing stop as she attempts to take notes of the level of groans, waiting for them to stop. I cannot control them.

We went to see the doctor last week. They are concerned about the inflammation of my legs. Water retention, something called edema. My legs are swollen from the toes all the way up. We got tensor socks today that go all the way up. Janet has to help me put them on. I cannot bend over that far, and cannot get back up if I do. I am losing more and more control over things. Emotionally debilitating. This too shall pass. We have managed to handle everything else so far. You need rubber gloves to get the socks on over all the swelling. They helped instantly. I was amazed by the reaction of both legs to them. Put them on first thing in the morning, take them off last.  Janet then applies a generous dose of Aveno body cream to the legs and arms. Let the cream dry a bit, and off to sleep.

I had a nose bleed a could of nights ago. I went from asleep to fast awake in seconds. Just felt a dribble coming out of my nostril I have become so sensitive to the signals the body is sending. The bleeding lasted about twenty minutes, then stopped as abruptly as it had started. Every day is a surprise.

I started telling about the visit to the doctor. Their concern led them to giving me an ultra sound of the legs to make sure there are no blood clots. Cancer patients are susceptible to them at the best of times, needing no further encouragement from edema. I have no clots.

They then did a blood test. My numbers are as good as that of any healthy person. My liver enzymes that indicate cancer tumor activity showed a 20% increase. Sounds bad, except that the numbers had tripled between September and the end of October. Now, a mere 20% growth. All good news. I was furious. I can feel the body failing in some respects. My strength is way down. I am watching my muscles disappear. I have stopped driving because I do not trust my reflexes any more. I am not sure I can lift my leg to hit the brakes. The blood results are making a mockery out of everything.

Then the nose bleed.

We have transitioned the palliative care to the home care nurses. That is the way the system works. Less expensive for them to come to me. The home care doctor came to see us last Monday. We went through the history. talked about everything that was annoying us. They cannot help us any more than we are doing. We are in fine shape and should just continue. That is just the way of the new world.

The solution to the edema is interesting. The issue is that the water gets to the legs but cannot travel back out. This is the normal process for all you healthy people out there. It gets stuck in the legs. My stomach is experiencing water retention as well. The solution to the legs is to drain the stomach. The water travels back filling up the stomach which is drained again, and again, and again. A two week process. Are you kidding me??? Leave things as they are. We will stick to the socks for now.

The doctor prescribed another pill to take once a day. A diuretic. One of the side effects may be drowsiness, and maybe a lowering of my blood pressure which has been perfect through this whole adventure.  I took my first one yesterday morning and passed out for three hours. We were planning on going to the One of a Kind Show, renting an electric scooter of some kind. We had to cancel. I was livid. Cannot even have one sane day.

I am on oxygen. A machine in my office provides all the oxygen I could possibly need. Use it mostly when I have visitors. Lose my breath when I talk, some might add talk too much. A factory of air supplying me with energy. Oxygen has no smell or taste. Hard to know whether it is working or not, though I must say, it seems to work in the short term allowing me to participate in a conversation. I have an additional set of tanks, one of which is small and I can take with me.  I was going to take one with me to the show. I have had a lot of problems adjusting to the tanks. They seem to carry a signal of doom around them. This is passing slowly. Taking the tank with me on every excursion helps dissipate whatever anxiety I may over it.

Life throws a curve, we counter with a base hit, a fly ball, eventually a home run. Most things appear to lose their importance after a while. I still have a pulse and get to enjoy the company of friends and relatives. What I do miss though is doing the absurdly mundane and boring things we so take for granted. Going out to look at bathroom sinks and toilet. Shoot me now.

The show runs next week as well. We are keeping Tuesday clear for that.

The house has been full of people for the past month or so, to the point where we are all looking at each other askance. Contrary to my Visits post, we have started curtailing the visits controlling the times a bit better, giving us all a bit of a breather. This has been a quiet week. Saturday will be very busy and promises to be a fun day. Lisa is coming over to watch a couple of episodes of Dr Who with me. Shawn is also joining us.She make some popcorn and away we go into the adventures of a time lord. What could possibly be more fun.

I have a nurse coming over tomorrow to take some blood for testing and check me out. The result of crashing yesterday morning and the nose bleed. They are concerned about the platelet counts dropping to low. The solution to that is a transfusion. The crashing could be due to the blood pressure dropping. Either way, I am off the diuretic for now. I suggested to them that I could take the diuretic at 5 in the morning. Its negative effects will be over by 9. Nurse coming at 10, should be perfect. They did not bite. The diuretic has the desired effect of making me pee a lot. That is supposed to help with draining the water from my legs. For some reason, they would not put a tap in my toes.

I think I have rambled enough for one night. Will write more as situations develop.

This blog has been very helpful helping me clear my thoughts, allowing me to better handle all the curves. I thank for taking the time to read, and specially to comment.

Date: December 2003

Location: Roatan Island, Honduras

Story: We spent Christmas on Roatan Island in a location called Los Palmas. Daryl Aitken, the consummate organizer made sure we had enough room for all.  We experienced all kinds of weather, this being the off season. It was fun. This is the view from our balcony. The chairs forlorn awaiting the company of strangers to adorn their seats. It was raining this day, which seems to show up as an out of focus picture.

I do have two regrets though. The first is that I did not take the opportunity to become a helicopter pilot.

We landed in Montreal in 1968. My parents had been here for a year laying the groundwork for us to emigrate to this country. We had not seen either of them for about two years. We were looked after in England by old friends of the family, Abbas and Shomeis Afnan.  I have had discussions with Fetneh about this time period. We were all in a bit of a daze. In between and betwixt as it were. Living in a strange land waiting for the future to unfold. Go to Canada. I had no idea where that was or what I could expect. My aunt who lived in Iran thought we were moving to the end of the world.

I finished High School here and was floundering around wondering what to do with my future. We had no counselling to speak of. I had no idea counselling was available for this sort of stuff through the school, and would probably not have taken advantage of it anyways. Someone suggested I get a helicopter pilots license. Sounded very sexy. I did not know anyone who was doing that. We were all encouraged to become doctors, lawyers, or accountants.  I looked into it very briefly. What stopped me cold at the ripe age of 17 or 18 was the $10,000 required to get the the license. That seemed like a small fortune to me.

Our attitude toward money is very different than the one prevalent in North America. Money is a means to an end here. I saw that amount of money as equivalent to the Queen’s fortune. I was also tole that amount was not as bad as I thought it was. I could repay it within a year by becoming a bush pilot. The serious issue with this proposition was that I had no diea what a bush pilot was and what it entailed.

The regret is not so much that I did not get the license, but I lacked the gumption to go after it. I lacked the aggression, foresight and will to do something that extravagant and let myself be defeated. The action of going after it would have, I think led to a major changes in my attitude toward life as a whole. The getting of the lecinse itself is secondary.

The second regret. My parents were very big on me becoming a doctor or an accountant. I got of science in university really quickly. So an accountant it was to be. The only class I have ever fallen asleep in was accounting. I kept floundering. This was not very pleasant. I was defeated and lacked the tools to see my way out of things.

I failed at the time to recognize my artistic side. This was hardly surprising. I was graded last in my art class in England. I just did not understand what was expected and what I could accomplish. Fetneh is very artistic. She had great talent. But the skill was frowned upon by the parental units. She was sent to secretarial school. She is now an esthetician. I am guessing her artistic side is getting a bit of work by her making people look beautiful. I wish I could convince her to start again. It would help her relax and certainly express herself more fully.

Malcolm Gladwell, in one of his books, says that it takes about 10,000 hours of practice to become an expert at something to the point of making it look easy. I have that under my belt where computers are concerned. I am running out of time to accomplish that in creating art. I may have those hours where photography is concerned. But not in creating any other sort of art.

I have struggled with the concept of art. What is art? Would I recognize a great artist if I saw one? What is great art? I finally decided that I would just buy the stuff I like whatever it happens to look like. I would not be concerned about the critics and pundits. Just follow my own instincts.

I never dared broach the subject of becoming an artist with my parents or anyone else for that matter. It was such a foreign concept to me. Yet, I hung out with the fine art students at Concordia struggling valiently to understand what it was they trying to express through their works.

I started taking picture many years ago. It was a fitful start. Could not make black and white pictures work. They were dull lacking emotion, passion or anything that would have made them appealing. Never considered taking a course or anything.  That was also a foreign concept. Not practical. I was to become an accountant. Accountants do not take pictures.  They are supposed to be dull and boring people.

You may recall that I took the art therapy class after my operation. All my friends were terribly excited. I was revealing a side of me that had been hidden. You can take pictures and paint? What a combination. Daryl bought me a water coloring kit encouraging me to continue with the hobby. We cleared a table in the kitchen and made it the art table. Bought all sorts of supplies.

40 years of suppression took its toll. Not one piece of work came out of it. I find myself sometimes, specially of late with an idea attempting to burst out of me flamboyantly displaying itself on a piece of paper. It flounders and dies. The years of suppression have taken its toll. I am almost scared to even attempt to put brush to paper. I curse Malcolm Gladwell. I wish I did not know about the 10,000 hours. It is red herring. He is hardly to blame.

I wonder how much similar damage we inflict on our children. It is all inadvertent. We do not mean to do this. We are protecting our children from the inevitable downfall when they fail to make it as an artist. Surely that is a good thing. Here we are giving them a failing grade before they have even attempted anything. We site statistics on the low number of successful compared to the number who enter the field. We fail to see that the numbers are the same regardless of which field you enter. How many truly successful lawyers do you know? There are so many. Most live very well doing the mundane stuff that is required of a lawyer. Close the house deal.  Set up a business agreement. all done daily for the thousandth time. Sounds great. This is not a criticism of any profession. Just to point out that the number of truly successful practitioners of any profession pales in comparison to the numbers who enter the field.

We do our best as parents to shield our children from life’s little foibles. Damned if we do and damed if we don’t.

Andrew and I were talking about the new normal which I have mentioned in the past. The concept of moving upper and lower bars of moderation came up in the same breath. Ah yes, he says, moving the calculus zero. Yeah, right. Think about it. Stop thinking as soon as your eyes glaze over.

I have mentioned many times that I look forward to being visited by everyone. It is one of the few pleasures left. All we have after all is said and done is the pleasure of each others company. I still hear that people are reticent to come forward. They are afraid of invading my privacy, of inconveniencing me. At the root of it all, I am guessing, is that people are unsure of what will happen if they do visit. What to say? How to behave? What is appropriate?

I wrote Andrew to tell him to get his scrawny ass over here. I wrote Richard to let him know that he has not seen me in too long while. He is also in possession of Season 5 and 6 of my Buffy CDs and I want them back. I can get away with this kind of talk with them. These are long standing friendships. No surprise when both came through.

To the rest of you I say this. Write or call the morning you want to visit to make sure I am up to it. I am not shy (have I ever been?) to let you know if it is not a good day. Things change sometimes between the phone call and the drop in. Kali was here the other day. She called ahead, is it OK? Yep, I says, come on over. I was asleep by the time she got here. Things were not so good. Could not open my eyes. I would hear snippets of conversation when I mustered up the strength to wake up a bit. And that is also fine. I lost my strength. Normal these days.

The conversation gets easier with more visits. I look great. Really do. Everyone is always surprised when they see me. This who see me more regularly discern between the better and not so better days. Others look at me with a bit of a puzzled look. You can almost hear the unasked question, really dying? You just don’t look it.

The situation is surreal. Say it, and say it again. We do all day. Often followed by it sucks. And so it does. We know it, you know it. Let us not waste time with political correctness and the usual decorum that accompanies visits and such activities.

Do not worry about bringing anything. Tea is always ready.

Visit, or I may have to subject you to a scrawny ass eMail.

Date: 2003

Location: Flower bay, Roatan Island, Honduras

Story: We were on our way back from the West End and decided to take a detour into something named as beautifully as Flower bay. It was not so beautiful.  I had a couple of people with me and could not stop to take pictures of which there were many to be had. This one shows the colour of choice of the Island houses as well as the general state of affairs, wall falling over, garden that is not looked after and the prodigious growth of vegetation.

The muddy river is also a bit bizarre considering the proximity of the ocean.

Date: 2003

Location: West End, Roatan Island, Honduras

Story: This is not a great picture, just fun. I have no idea why someone would keep this kind of a boat under a dock ramp. The colours are bit under saturated. I have not bothered to attempt a fix in Photoshop or anything.

Spirituality is the single most important component of the answer. Our society has a quiet rebellion at the word religion which conjures up images of child and native abuse, control, extreme riches while the poor remain hungry all around, wars and extreme prejudices fought in its name. We are unable to separate religion in many of its current forms from the purity of the original teachings.

There are also a number of questions arising as the the accuracy of the holly works since these were translated and transcribed by humans who are prone to so many errors. Assurances of the purity of the works as protected by the Manifestations of God or God himself are of no avail. No one really believes that is a possibility. Studies of the Bible particularly have highlighted the number of errors that have crept into the works that we are reading today. The first Bible was published 1000 years after the crucifixion of Christ.

The subject of spirituality itself is fraught with issues. Is it possible to have spirituality without religion? Is not the basis of spirituality the same as that of religion that we take for granted now as good vs bad rules. Thou shalt not kill was introduced by religion and has become assimilated in society. Could that rule have evolved naturally or would we continue to believe that killing is a natural process of mankind. The wild west of the 19th Century in the U.S. would support the issue that killing was considered a normal part of life for many years, in spite of religion or spirituality.

Defining the latter is effusive at best and left to the individual. Spirituality appears to live in people’s lives according to their set of principles and guidelines. I would surmise though, that all aspects of it engender some sort of feelings of good will to all men. The prospect of doing good as opposed to evil, to advance society to the next level of accomplishment. Defining good and evil, accomplishments and the like opens its own set of issues and definitions that become very personal very quickly in any discussion. To make matters worse, there are few answers.

I would add two additional principles to spirituality. The Baha’i Faith goes to great lengths espousing the benefits of detachment and moderation. I have mentioned these in the past. I am coming to the conclusion that these three could easily form the bastion of human consciousness. All are difficult to achieve, nearing on the impossible. Mainly because we tend to attempt to define things in black and white. Where it only so. All definitions defie tight descriptions of any kind. Matters are made worse by advancing age as we see ambiguity all around us.

Detachment is the process of detaching yourself from material goods. I say this as I sit in a house full of beautiful art collected over the years. I always considered detachment also meant not having material goods, shying away from purchasing them. As time has gone by, I have come to the conclusion that far not acquiring material goods, the art of detachment includes the process of acquiring stuff but recognising the transient nature f what we acquire. The accumulation of wealth for the sake of it has never seemed like a good idea, or even a recommended path to happiness. On the other hand, you have a Warren Buffet who makes a fortune and gives most of away to benefit mankind. That is certainly a level of detachment. For the record, he gave away $35 billion of his $40 billion fortune to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Detachment is hard to achieve since it is hard to define accurately, and again means different things to different people. At its most fundamental, I believe it includes the appreciation of one’s belongings without being unduly attached to them. Would I miss my art if it were stolen? Or burned in a fire? Undoubtedly. Life goes on at that point. We can always start purchasing again. Maybe go in a new direction. The silver lining that allows us to chart new ways as a direct result of the loss we have suffered.

Moderation is equally complicated. At first glance, it would appear that moderation encourages us to tow the middle line. How boring that would be. No excesses. On the other hand, would moderation allow the occasional excess as long as it is tempered afterwards? I am sure it does. We would not know what moderation was if we are always being moderate. That brings us to the mind bender of moderation within moderation.

Can the boundaries of moderation be moved? The answer is an obvious yes. A person participating in Xtreme sports will have different upper and lower boundaries associated with their level of activities. Their state of moderation, or what they would consider to be moderate would a totally different of values than mine. Same would apply to such mundae tasks as driving a car where we set different standards for ourselves.

We drove from Germany to Iran in 1962. My father had purchased a brand new Opel Caravan. The laws regarding importing foreign new vehicles into Iran had relaxed and my father decided to take advantage of the situation. He went to the Automobile Association in Germany to get a map and an idea of what route to take. It was an interesting drive of which I remember parts. He was told there two routes, easy and hard. Easy meant two weeks, hard was ten days over the grueling mountains of Yugoslavia and Turkey. We had lived in Ethiopia for ten years negotiating its mountainous terrain, mountains appeared to not be a problem for my father.

My father’s idea of a trip was to get from point A to point B with the minimum number of interventions. Bathroom breaks were non-existent. Leaving at 7:00AM meant just that. Be in there or incur his wrath. We made the trip to Iran in seven days much tot he shock of the Automobile Association Iran when we reported in. My dad’s idea of moderation while driving while slightly askew with the rest of the people in the car.

We are all very fast fast drivers in my family. Moderation means driving over the speed limit, not at the limit.

Moderation also applies to other aspects of life. Baha’is are told to take every opportunity to teach the Faith. Mention the name of our Manifestation of God, Baha’u'llah. Extol his teachings and so on. Even that has to be done in moderation. I have a cousin who is very active in the faith, in my opinion past the point of moderation by a large margin regardless of what upper and lower boundaries are set. She is in France right now, gone to spend time with her daughter. Her daughter works which means my cousin will have some free time on her hands. She will be organising some sort of Baha’i do there During her vacation.

I pointed out to her that this would no longer be a vacation. She should take some time out from teaching the Faith and become a tourist. I am not good at that, she says. Of course not. That requires practice.  You need to try it sometime. Go to the Museums, not the Louvre necessarily, but the Musee D’Orsay is fabulous and worth the visit. Go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. Being a tourist requires you to practice being one to enjoy the process. In the meantime, go have a cup of coffee and talk to people. Incredible what you will learn from them. Recharge your batteries. It will make you a more effective teacher when you return. Moderation applies to everything we do.

If you are bored by how moderate you have become, move the boundaries. Being moderate does not mean boring.

Spirituality, detachment, moderation form the three pillars on which most lives can be lived fruitfully.

None can be achieved however, without first becoming conscious of what you are doing and how you are living you life. Stream of consciousness is vital. We are seeing this term appear more and more in all sorts of literature. Become aware. Consciousness allows you to heal yourself from some conditions. There are those who argue that I could heal my liver if only I was more conscious of its activities. Rewrite the genes that control it. It is possible. It has been proven with the new theories of Neuro Plasticity in which have rewired their brains to get rid of certain debilitating conditions including depression.

Another life long goal to be achieved. All of these are done simultaneously. It is not like you do one, than proceed to another. Every pillar is a support helping the others make sense out of everything.

Consciousness allows to become aware that the problem or issue you are labouring over is important or not. Helps balance  things out. Can you live like that every day of your life. I doubt it.

I am beginning to dissect and analyse what people say. This is fun and very educational. I have another post coming out on it. For now, I will mention one of them. Live every day like it is your last. Or take everything one day at a time. Both impossible to do. You have no idea when your last day is. And anyways, you will be dead on your last day. Not sure you want to live that way.

Given the prognosis that I have two months to live has creates a volcano of thoughts and feelings. None of which helps decide how to live every day like it is my last. Don’t have the energy for it. What if I want to sit and do nothing tomorrow? Is that a bad thing? Have I betrayed my last day objective? Would I not want to do something different? Not necessarily anything dramatic. Have dinner with my wife. Just the two of us. Hardly a last day activity people envision when they make the comment. You can have dinner anytime. Go do something else. But what?

The answer to your question, Iggy, is as old as the mountains we tread on. Achieving the balance that is required to live a full life, aware of the repercussions of one’s actions. I can tell you from my own experience over this journey, that the road to that awareness is long, will take unexpected twists and turns for which you are never totally prepared. It is worth taking the time every day to meditate. Probably toward the end of the day, on what actions you have taken, how this has affected you and your loved ones. How things can be fixed. The quicker you apply the fix the better. What the next steps are.

Baha’is have to say their prayers every day. A prayer consists of three equal parts. The first is reading the prayer, aloud or to yourself, the second is to meditate on what you have read, and the this is to take some action as a result of the prayer. Reading the prayer is the easy part. The rest require a stream of consciousness.

I hope this helps you in some way, Iggy. This has been a very difficult write. I would to hear not only your comments, but those of others. Please do not be shy, every comment carries a gem in it whether you think so or not. A lot of you write me eMails instead of commenting. I wish I could post those as comments. They are full of insight that you may not think are valuable, or downplay as simplistic. This blog has proven that there is no such thing. I have written posts that I have looked at later and thought I treated the subject too lightly, yet the comments make a liar out of me. Or the posts leave enough room for others to say something.

This is an important post tome. Please comment. Every word has value.