The beginning is noise. For most, a bright shining explosion into the universe teeming with possibilites.

The end is silence. Hands folded, eyes closed, the machine winding down, no longer animated, to become memories, stories and faded photographs.

Birth is the opening of a book, death is the pen put down at the end of the last paragraph.

Whatever the path underfoot, there is only one way. Forwards.

Sieze that chance, and burn with the brightness of a star.

We know not when the tap will come,  the cover closed, the sand run out.

So prepare to die, mentally and physically. Have your house in order as much as you can, have words said or written that need to be.

And then live the heck out of that gift. Far too many were taken early, some sacrificed on another’s altar, some by their own choice, yet more by cold fate. You are still alive to read this, you still have that opportunity.

Look after the body you were given. Take every opportunity to be stronger, faster, to learn, to share, to be more human.

And be kind.