We die to many parts of ourselves, and the quality of each of these dying processes determiners the vitality of each rebith. It seem sto me that between heaven and earth there is just the slightest, most permeable membrane, and dthat it is possible to live in both realms simultaneously, at least some of the time. The conjunction of the two dimensions that we so loosely call death and birth is equally permeable. Each courageous end is also the finest and most pure beginning. To journey into that great unknown is the human-making pilgrimage, a gradual return to the image and likeness of God.
To open to the sense, to become really conscious, you have to drop out of the future and the past and remain for a time in what T. S. Eliot called "the still point of the turning world" — the present. The only true reality is the present.