The reports I follow on the radio international news touches me most when the survivors suffer the missing-partner -syndrome. They cannot imagine how death works spirituality. That the body is not functioning any more they can grasp, but that the persons light and life are gone, baffles them. The more as nothing about the way how to die has been taught in schools, church, temples etc. My curiosity has lead me to the most satisfying: "Book 0f the Dead", from Tibet. The ancient unperturbed monks in the monasteries high on the slopes of the Himalaya have preserved the teachings of the Enlightened Ones and composed a guide for the spirit of the dying person. The symptoms of the arriving death are well described as in normal cases death takes about the time it takes to use a meal. This manual for the spirit of the dead person is to be read out loud by a friend even as minutes and hours and days go by. Time exists only on our side of the clock, and after 7 weeks it is said that the spirit must have found its way and the guiding prayers cease.

This reading while one is alive, for a dead friend or relative, or for only one self, while living, gives the reader the wisdom to help others that happen to die in the

field of influence of the present. It makes life so much richer, this knowledge of how to die. That, if it comes, at least I have an inkling as to where to steer my spirit, if it is true that it cannot die and live forever. The information, once stored in the brain, after reading a modern translation, will be of use in case an instant death takes place. Life becomes so fearless and easy, bad habits are laid off , morality strengthens, integrity sublime, here follows the name of the book: The Tibetan Book of the Dead. Oxford University Press. ISBN 0-19-500223-7.

This version is a bit old-fashioned and I recommend you find a newer edition. I have seen one that explains the message clear and good. Life becomes more marvelous and full when you have understood that you have been here forever and will stay, no matter how many death we pass. We grow towards fulfillment of the Lord and appreciate His mysteries the more we do scientific research to celebrate His ways.

No flags fly halfmast, no mourning at island level. Oh no. That’s for when the far away Queen dies, or her first minister maybe, or some soldiers that died fifty years ago, far away. But when about 30 persons die right here, close by, on the doorstep so to say, not a word. 'Sorry' says the island boss, 'It can not be helped.'

However, the tightening of the immigration laws not only here, but in every wealthy country, is the reason for more poor people trying to get out of poverty.

Respect is what people crave, respect and dignity, for death comes to all , it should not be wiped under the carpet as if it is not important. One day of mourning should be observed, or at least one minute silence for every person that died in the battle to try to survive. The war here is not with guns and bombs, but with hourly wages and visa. Respect for the poor who make the walls of the houses that the rich live in. Those workers that make this world so full of goods, luxuries and commodities themselves live in shacks, with unpaved roads and no sewage. Also here on prosperous Sint Maarten. Go see Cay Hill ghetto, Middle region and Dutch Quarter ghettos, no roads, no sewage. There live the people that seek education, relief of centuries of suppression of the rich and powerful. It is them that died on their search for a better life. Remember them, when you hear of brotherly love from the pulpit, remember them.

Knowledge about dying is hard to obtain. Nobody escapes that one certainty, and still it is never discussed. It is not studied or talked about and the art of dying is at a very low point in our society. I myself do foresee my death. And I do not want no wailing and snottering at my departure. Feast and be merry when I am set free. Address me as if I where still there. Nobody knows in what Wisdom and Light I will have gone. So I start saving for the party after my death. Every coin I get through the neck of an empty ketchup bottle adds to the party money. When the bottle is full of coins I bury it. It holds approximately  $50.- When long after my death someone finds the bottle full of coins he will have a little party. When I have buried enough for a big party I make a map. With a cross at the spot and a dotted line to the nearest tree. With numbers of steps to be taken in various directions of true north. To maintain the Caribbean dream of buried treasure, I recommend all future party mongers to bury more treasure, deeper, When so much treasure is buried by me as to make people want to kill me for it I have reached. Then I will reveal it all to a good friend shortly before I go. I will hand him the chart with the secret of the buried treasure and he may do with it as he likes. If I die as planned the party may be delayed by my friend or consumed ad hoc. If I do not die, I keep adding to the hoard. If my body is to be disposed of I would prefer to be thrown in the deep, clear  waters of the sea. My organs may be reused if desired, the rest cut in small pieces for the seagulls, burnt, or eaten by worms, that does not bother me, but a party with happy people, cake, sweetmeat, drink and music, that must be. I hoard my  treasure now for the people that live longer. Cheers.