I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish it's source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

People living deeply have no fear of death.

I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.