Certain redwood groves are holy places for me because they capture silence and light. The forest is so dense as to exclude all external noise. It is possible to ignore their silence until a single bird sings within. When the single song has died not only do I realize I have heard a sound exquisite in its simplicity, but also that I have heard it so precisely because it was embedded in pure silence.
Is itpossible to prepare for our death with the same attentiveness that our parents had in preparing for our birth?
Can we wait for our death as for a friend who wants to welcome us home?