Twelve years ago, I was introduced to the concept of "conscious dying’ in a Kundalini yoga session. The exercise, referred to as "scripting our last moments on earth," was designed to "increase our familiarity with the reality of our physical death and the instinct of completion."

We were asked to imagine that we were about to film a movie about our final moments on earth – each of us being screenwriter, producer and director of our final experience of this existence.

We were asked to envision our final moments in the most ideal manner possible, engaging all our senses in the scenario we were creating.

We were placed in pairs, with one of us being the "dying" person and the other simply facilitating the process by asking questions from a list provided to help guide the "script," then writing the answers given.

I chose to be the dying person of the pair, lying on a yoga mat, breathing deeply and slipping into a relaxed state before our question-and-answer period, while my partner in the exercise sat cross-legged near to me with pen and paper.

Sometimes the questions did not quite resonate, but I answered in ways that felt true for me.

For example, when asked, “What music would you like to hear as you are dying?” I recall thinking that I would not necessarily want to hear music. What came to mind is that I would prefer to hear the voice and feel the touch of a loved one.

Research suggests that as our bodies transition from this plane of existence, the last senses to go are touch and sound/hearing.

Other questions asked, included those that guided us to consider who (if anyone) we would like to be present (or not) with us, what we would like to say to them or have them say to us, what we would want our surroundings to be, what we would like to smell or taste, what objects (if any) we would want around us to touch and appreciate, what we would like to have done to or with our body...and so on.

Over the years since then, I sometimes recall that experience, and the only answer I remember clearly is the one that I gave when I said what I would want my last words to be. Because the answer flowed so effortlessly, from a relaxed, meditative state, I felt my desired/inspired "last words" to be true, simple, yet life-changing, as if a seed had been planted and would from thenceforth grow into a promised reality.

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Those "famous last words," personal to me, are like a distant beacon, shining a pathway upon which to walk. I believe, that with each step made, consciously or not, I am being led to experience or become that which makes it possible for those words to be accurate and authentic when I reach my natural end. Even if not actually spoken, they would be the sentiment.

Thinking of them now, they strike me as six words that I could say to myself at any moment of the day for inspiration; so much so that I think I will paint them as a sign and place them where I will see them daily – a reminder, a clarion call. From the moment