An Ode to Death

Yesterday, a sad fellow took a gun and shot over 45 people at Virginia Tech University. He killed 31 people immediately. The rest he succeeded in putting into the hospital...some in critical condition. He left everyone worse than he met them. I gave up a part of my life coming to grips with death. After all these years, I realized that the attention-seeking, crass self-believing, devil-may-care, indiscriminate Intangible called death is also immutable. As you can see, we did not come to grips on anything - except agreeing to disagree. I refuse to give it any more attention than these lines.

Here, below, is John Donne's poem that I promised a few posts ago. I'm sad that it is now so apt. It was not my intention.

No Man is an Island

No man is an island, entire of itself

Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main

If a clod be washed away by the sea,

Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were,

as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were

Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind

and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls

It tolls for thee.

-- John Donne (1572-1631)