An old man that I met in '92, told me "you should meditate in burial grounds." Then he added "In Tibet! Cemetaries in America are parks. In Tibet there are half decayed bodies or half-eaten bodies left from animals. In America, maybe meditate in airports." I meditate during root canal. "You, YOU have to be aware of dying. You know about death, everybody writes about death and the bardo, but dying is ANOTHER thing all together." "Success is false. You cannot be drugged by it. You will die, you will suffer in dying, this is inescapable. You think you can cheat death, but you cannot cheat dying." He died in 2013. My old-man was a robust, post WWII guy. "Don't let the environment beat ya!" You recognize the past tense. Dad died twelve days ago, was not into meditation. "THINK!", he would say, "THINK!" Dad taught me analysis, thinking, and caring about family as the only way. In the end, he had dimentia, visions of women on the ceiling. Not sexual visions, confusing & mind twisting visions. He also saw some horror he never told me about; I saw it In his eyes. There are visions that creep within us. My old man, ow gone, mouth agape, eyes open. This is my current haunt. How do you shake a ghost when you love him? You never escape the visage of your dead hero, the decay of his body, his catheter, his spindly legs. You don't want to forget What else is left but this trace? He told me he wanted to go, but that was before his mind withered. Even that, he was aware of now and again. Once when I was twelve I dropped my jack-knife down a sewer drain.