As kenneth rexroth put it: the value of something is proportional to its loss. To live is to take up and hold some measure of ultimate value. In dying we give up and release _everything_ we hold and love. This is the poetic essence of life: Each breath is dying, and each death a rebirth--always intangible and inaccessible, except as we experience it in that continuing instant.<p>Life is not safe. At each moment we tumble forward into the unknown. Can you take comfort in that?