Buddha on his deathbed said:

Do not accept what you hear[...] because it is in accord with your belief.

It is so very easy to do that--to hear something that supports the side or belief you have already adopted and think, "See? That's right." I try to maintain active mindfulness of this with everything I hear. It takes enormous effort.

To Borrow a Phrase from "Glee"

I adore that Adele song/video, "Rolling in the Deep." (If that's really the name of it, then not well-titled, IMO. But otherwise, seriously hot-shit piece of music.)

Now I, tapu, am widely considered, by those who know me well--hell, even barely--for having the gift of appreciation for an extensive array of women's physical types, ranging from thinner to heavier, shorter to taller, younger to older,... on and on.

But I just cannot get past Adele's butt-chin. (I think that's the right term. Isn't that how Sue Sylvester "C's" Shu's?)

I don't know if being judgmental about this makes me a bad person or whatever. I defend myself with the astute but widely misused observation of the human condition that there is no accounting for taste. Still, I feel shallow.

OK, it's still about death but it's no one we know.

http://abclocal.go.com/kfsn/story?section=news/local&id=4804926
Exerpt from mid-article:

Gopal said he was unable to determine whether Tim Schuster was alive at the time of death, but it was probable.

Warning about the link above: Article contains an extremely graphic and potentially disturbing description of an unimaginably gruesome murder and its unimaginably gruesome aftermath. Quick, go see!

Postscript: OMG OMG OMG! I went and read more and now I know what that Gopal person was trying to say! Schuster was alive at the time they.... Oh god. You don't want to know! Here's the link with new details: http://www.fresnobee.com/2007/10/20/170108/fagone-may-not-testify.html

I have a theory about when your mom dies.

This theory is based on my one-time experience and resultant feelings; nonetheless, I suggest that it makes some intuitive sense.

It is very, very sad when your father dies, or your sibling, or your friend, or your dog. When your mother dies, there is this additional aspect. So hard to describe, but let me try: it must be like the anomie of uprooted peoples. One becomes unmoored. It brings a whole new and serious meaning to "Who You Gonna' Call?"

Your mother's death turns the life experience from one of continuity into one of acute awareness of its finite nature. With your mother there was no beginning, none at least you were aware of. And then, more than any other in the entire world of your existence, your mother is Just There. Not even thought about as being there. "Where's your mother?" "I don't know [but I know she is there]." There is a tether, literal at conception. It's there still, if figurative, afterwards, felt at lesser or greater degrees at times and for individuals. You're at one end. She's at the other. Omigod, now she's not. You will never get back to the Mothership.

To be practical, nothing much changes in day to day life when you're an adult and your mother dies. You can pretend she's back there at home and you haven't called in a while. But something else changes; something in the world is gone. Don't look around that void too much--it may be that that's all there is.