I put my hand on his back and asked silently "Are you going to die?" to which came the answer: "It is time." My thoughts raced with a series of follow-up questions: "Time for what? Time to live? Time to die? Time to dance?

This night I arrived a little before the crowd, just minutes before the tables with stools near the small dance floor were taken. Harvelle's, a popular Santa Monica night spot which draws an upscale crowd, is known as "The Home of the Blues, R&B, Funk, and Rock" with live music and dancing every night. With its no-smoking environment and sounds for both the ears and the feet, it is a pleasant place to spend an evening. I go for the listening and the dancing.

After enjoying a dance with a young man, I wove my way back through newly arrived patrons to my carefully chosen seat. After a sip of my Pellegrino, I felt compelled to return to the edge of the dance floor. My rational thought was to take my turn with one of the regulars, John, a trained dancer who arrived some twenty minutes earlier. I noticed him and a man I had not seen before -- both the same vintage, about 50, and the same height, about 5'8", but John as light as and the unknown man as heavy as that frame can hold.

John changed partners on the dance floor, so I made eye contact with this other man who, like John, had been dancing with a variety of partners since his arrival. We danced and exchanged pleasantries. We laughed. We smiled. I noticed that his flesh tone was similar to mine, light and peachy; his eyes as intense as my own blue eyes, but brown. It was obvious that he loved to dance. He led adeptly; I followed easily. In the middle of our dance, he commented, "You'll probably need to take your jacket off because you'll get warm." I smiled, knowing that likely I would very soon peel it off, but for the time being the fan above the dance floor was keeping me cool.

At the end of the dance, I turned toward the band to acknowledge the musicians with my applause. When I turned my focus back to my partner, I saw that he was no longer standing beside me, but was face down on the floor. The other dancers and I assumed he was joking. But not so. The band stopped. Time stopped. This time held all eternity -- a time that can be long or short by the clock. Someone called for help while six of us (including staff, John, and a patron who is a registered nurse) said encouraging words and touched him. I allowed others to attend to him on a physical basis, and focused my attention at another level.

I put my hand on his back and asked silently "Are you going to die?" to which came the answer: "It is time." My thoughts raced with a series of follow-up questions: "Time for what? Time to live? Time to die? Time to dance?"

After enjoying a dance with a young man, I wove my way back through newly arrived patrons to my carefully chosen seat. After a sip of my Pellegrino, I felt compelled to return to the edge of the dance floor. My rational thought was to take my turn with one of the regulars, John, a trained dancer who arrived some twenty minutes earlier. I noticed him and a man I had not seen before -- both the same vintage, about 50, and the same height, about 5'8", but John as light as and the unknown man as heavy as that frame can hold.

John changed partners on the dance floor, so I made eye contact with this other man who, like John, had been dancing with a variety of partners since his arrival. We danced and exchanged pleasantries. We laughed. We smiled. I noticed that his flesh tone was similar to mine, light and peachy; his eyes as intense as my own blue eyes, but brown. It was obvious that he loved to dance. He led adeptly; I followed easily. In the middle of our dance, he commented, "You'll probably need to take your jacket off because you'll get warm." I smiled, knowing that likely I would very soon peel it off, but for the time being the fan above the dance floor was keeping me cool.

At the end of the dance, I turned toward the band to acknowledge the musicians with my applause. When I turned my focus back to my partner, I saw that he was no longer standing beside me, but was face down on the floor. The other dancers and I assumed he was joking. But not so. The band stopped. Time stopped. This time held all eternity -- a time that can be long or short by the clock. Someone called for help while six of us (including staff, John, and a patron who is a registered nurse) said encouraging words and touched him. I allowed others to attend to him on a physical basis, and focused my attention at another level.

I put my hand on his back and asked silently "Are you going to die?" to which came the answer: "It is time." My thoughts raced with a series of follow-up questions: "Time for what? Time to live? Time to die? Time to dance?

John changed partners on the dance floor, so I made eye contact with this other man who, like John, had been dancing with a variety of partners since his arrival. We danced and exchanged pleasantries. We laughed. We smiled. I noticed that his flesh tone was similar to mine, light and peachy; his eyes as intense as my own blue eyes, but brown. It was obvious that he loved to dance. He led adeptly; I followed easily. In the middle of our dance, he commented, "You'll probably need to take your jacket off because you'll get warm." I smiled, knowing that likely I would very soon peel it off, but for the time being the fan above the dance floor was keeping me cool.

At the end of the dance, I turned toward the band to acknowledge the musicians with my applause. When I turned my focus back to my partner, I saw that he was no longer standing beside me, but was face down on the floor. The other dancers and I assumed he was joking. But not so. The band stopped. Time stopped. This time held all eternity -- a time that can be long or short by the clock. Someone called for help while six of us (including staff, John, and a patron who is a registered nurse) said encouraging words and touched him. I allowed others to attend to him on a physical basis, and focused my attention at another level.

I put my hand on his back and asked silently "Are you going to die?" to which came the answer: "It is time." My thoughts raced with a series of follow-up questions: "Time for what? Time to live? Time to die? Time to dance?

At the end of the dance, I turned toward the band to acknowledge the musicians with my applause. When I turned my focus back to my partner, I saw that he was no longer standing beside me, but was face down on the floor. The other dancers and I assumed he was joking. But not so. The band stopped. Time stopped. This time held all eternity -- a time that can be long or short by the clock. Someone called for help while six of us (including staff, John, and a patron who is a registered nurse) said encouraging words and touched him. I allowed others to attend to him on a physical basis, and focused my attention at another level.

I put my hand on his back and asked silently "Are you going to die?" to which came the answer: "It is time." My thoughts raced with a series of follow-up questions: "Time for what? Time to live? Time to die? Time to dance?

I put my hand on his back and asked silently "Are you going to die?" to which came the answer: "It is time." My thoughts raced with a series of follow-up questions: "Time for what? Time to live? Time to die? Time to dance?" I reminded myself to breathe. My impulse "to do" something shifted back to the consciousness "to be" with this moment. I recognized that to be a non-anxious presence was more important now than any action I might take. My inner guidance confirmed that his spirit was very much alive, but was no longer in his body. I felt his spiritual presence more strongly than I had earlier. My fearlessness of physical death and my previous experiences of observing the process of transition from physical to nonphysical anchored me in blessing the richness of this moment.

Words of encouragement and gentle touches came to this man on the floor from those in the inner circle; those in the outer circles bore witness to the event. Drawn together for entertainment in this intimate space, we found ourselves joined by the invisible web of human kindness with varied reflections and perspectives on life and death.

In the muted sounds of the club, I picked up odds and ends of information. Echoed through the room was the knowledge that no one present knew this man's name. Staff confirmed to each other that he was not drinking. A gold ring on his left hand announced he was married. In the absence of facts, I speculated on his circumstances. Perhaps he was an out-of-town business person unwilling to fight the Friday night outbound traffic at LAX. Perhaps he lived in Chicago or Boston, with a wife and children not expecting him home until sometime the next day. A staff member tapped me on the shoulder, bringing me out of my speculation, and signaled that I was to move aside for the police and paramedics. I slipped back into linear time and realized that, by the clock, their arrival was swift.

I moved to the outer circle, but not for long. The staff pointed me out to a police officer who asked for my identification. In my tiny purse I carried only my keys, my driver's license, and some cash. I learned from the early morning jogging club the importance of carrying identification when going out to walk or run, just in case...... Going to a bar or buying wine,