In the Foxhole

Dying is as big a mess as being born into this world. I do not like going into something, from where I am familiar, into something else where I have never actually been before.

Time Fools Us All.  I also feel somewhat betrayed by events that transpired so quickly, when I expected they were not only far off, but a long way off.

Things gradually get more unbearably difficult, and even decorated with pain. I know. But many of us still hold on until the organic mind becomes confused, continually remembering and forgetting. I call this being in the foxhole. We cannot tell when it will happen, but it is close. 

Now I will know if what I believed is true and whether I believed it.