The great secret of death,
and perhaps its deepest connection with me,
is that in taking from me a life I have loved,
death does not wound me,
but lifts me
toward a more perfect understanding of life
and of myself.
I am not saying that I can love death,
but rather that I should love life so generously,
without picking and choosing,
so that I automatically include it in my life,
in my love.
This is what actually happens with love,
which cannot be stopped or constricted.
It is only when I exclude love in my life,
that death becomes more and more foreign to me
and, ultimately, an enemy.
It is conceivable
that death is infinitely closer to me
than life itself.
Death is not the opposite of life,
simply the opposite of birth,
both a normal part of life.
As long as I stand in opposition to Death
I disfigure it.
Death is a friend,
a close friend,
perhaps the only friend who can never be misled
by my ploys and vacillations,
not in the sentimental, romantic sense
of distrusting or renouncing life.
Death is a friend
precisely because it brings me into absolute and passionate presence
with all that is here,
that is natural,
that is love.
Life always says Yes and No simultaneously.
Death stands before eternity and says only