"Refuse silence while you can still sing"
— Diane di Prima
Mortality approaches,
encroaches.

A couple of months ago, I discovered Harry Eisel had a died a couple of months before.  He's the one who introduced me to Taoism and reiki in prison — was a psychologist, the director of psych services, and led a weekly discussion group (outside the purview of his job) with a dozen or so inmates on Tuesday afternoons — we called it Tuesdays with Harry.  He'd been battling cancer for about ten years.  We knew it then, and I knew it later when I was home and created a MySpace profile dedicated to his book Life Really Is That Simple.  I used to visit him on MySpace daily to see how he was — then weekly — then monthly — then I forgot for a few months, then added him on Facebook, then forgot for a few months more — and finally he was dead and I'd missed it.  Turns out he'd died the same day as Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett — but he didn't make the news and I didn't know till I Googled his name in September.

Then my Uncle Roy died, and my mom's uncle Bill — and not just them.

A week or two ago I was performing my daily ritual of saying happy birthday to those among my 3,000-plus Facebook friends who have birthdays that day (a list is conveniently located in my home page sidebar).  I dutifully went to my poet friend Jack Wiler's profile and posted a cursory birthday greeting on his wall — hadn't been there in probably six months.  The last contact I remember having with Jack was a thank you for his constructive criticism on my HermAphrodite poem nearly a year ago.  But before I could move on to the next friend with a birthday, I noticed another comment on his wall — one that made me think he wasn't around anymore.  Upon Googling him, I found out he'd died October 20th.  Ashamed and embarrassed, I deleted my perfunctory birthday comment and left one that meant more to me, something about how I would never forget him.  Probably won't now....

And not just him.

You can't get away from today,
But today is getting away from you —
Me too.

I have no illusions that my
writing, website,
other work and effects
will endure forever.
But I'm gonna write
everyday anyway
while I can.

The grandkids will be here today through Sunday —
it's hard to think about dying while they're around.

But I fancy I know why Jack wrote a lot
and Harry lived a lot
and maybe Jack did too
before they went.

I feel like writing and living a lot too,
at least today,
until life intrudes,
or death,
and I forget.