Take my breath away; this equals love. Love is willfully giving one your breath? Willfully submitting to the finality of having no breath--of death? Strange, don't you think? So, Freud was right, the death-drive is intimately related to the experience of pleasure.

What should our response be? I don't know.

I do know that death seems to be something in which I do not want to wallow; something that repels me. If Freud was right, I think Heidegger was right too--instead of reveling in death, why don't we revel in dying so as to revel in life? Let us revel in the ambiguity, the indefiniteness, the uncanny experience of waiting for an end that is so foreign, so other, we don't really know how to think about it. In short, let us revel in the dying, not death. Let us relate, communicate, and try in a space which emanates gray, while providing the place for endless movement. Let us move in between poles--between the desire for love (death) and the bliss of finite freedom.

I can be your hero baby? Really?

A friend told me once that there are no heroes. I don't know if that is true. What I do know is that it is more fruitful to hope for the impossible, unexpected, unthinkable hero--the one that can provide love apart from death--than to rely upon, or hope for a hero within the field of our experience. The lab 'hero' should be reserved for those that provide us with the presence for which we hope, without the death which we fear so absolutely, so definitely.