The Every Where Hum

I watched the beautiful event of my father dying some years ago.  His hair once dark, now white,  his frame once tall and proud, now a shell.  His skin had become so transparent that the eye seemingly couldn't discern the outer surface.  You looked into his skin.
At the end his head was cocked backward almost impossibly, eyes closed, mouth open.  He would take several deep deep contorted breaths and stop.  With a great start he would take several more.  At one point he ended.
It really was a beautiful thing to watch the big Arc reunite with itself to become the big Circle.

It's the way it should be.

Sometime after that I was throwing away some dead flowers from a shoot and one of them was so still full of life and movement that it reminded me of the death of my father.

Lately this concept of age has been swirling around me.  Yesterday morning the Universal Love Shack or that place where thoughts come from suggested to me to put on Baden Powell and Vinicius de Moraes's CD "Back to Brazil".
And I'm putting away the set from yesterday's shoot, sweeping the dojo so to speak, open to stuff and the end of the CD draws itself out in bass tones.
I had this thought that it was this low deep hum that seemed to come from everywhere. 
Then The Thought comes back.  Maybe that's what death of the body will be like.
The Hum....the OM.

Alright enough of this.  Back to your regularly scheduled program.