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  • If you told me my time was running out, and if you asked how I would spend my last hours, I would tell you I’d spend them tying time to rocks.

    I’d go to Haines, Alaska, or Eggum, Lofoten, or Torolmen, Sogn, or Tongue, Scotland, places I’ve sat, watching the swells and the tide, listening to the waves and the waterfalls, marvelling at the color-explosions in the fall, thinking, breathing, being. Freezing, seized and silenced by overwhelming joy, unwilling to get up and move on, because the power of the present is so immense, and because I feel so unfathomably linked to the earth, the principal of my existence.

    If I live to be a hundred and six, I want to leave my body sitting on a rock in one of those places. If I become terminally ill, come look for me in those places. Gather me up, grind me into fine dust and scatter me – in one of those places. And then sit, feel your own presence, breathe, watch the landscape, tune in to the surrounding sounds, be. Just be. Tie time to rocks.
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