The father of my friend died yesterday afternoon. He never regained consciousness from a surgery before the holiday, and the brain damage was too great. They had to let him go. But it was too early and he was too young.

I ask you for prayers, energy, light - whatever you can send to his family, and to him on his journey. His name is Charles.

To me the honour is sufficient of belonging to the universe — such a great universe, and so grand a scheme of things. Not even Death can rob me of that honour. For nothing can alter the fact that I have lived; I have been I, if for ever so short a time. And when I am dead, the matter which composes my body is indestructible—and eternal, so that come what may to my ‘Soul,’ my dust will always be going on, each separate atom of me playing its separate part — I shall still have some sort of a finger in the pie. When I am dead, you can boil me, burn me, drown me, scatter me — but you cannot destroy me: my little atoms would merely deride such heavy vengeance. Death can do no more than kill you. - Barbellion