Of all the illusions to which human consciousness is prey, death may be the most beguiling. And the most asinine. To conceive of experiencing one's own death presumes a division of body and mind which, you see, was merely the superstition of a darker age. More accurately conceived, death is somebody else's supervision of the suspension of our consciousness. It is a point-of-view of no more immediate concern to us than the point-of-view of someone watching us sleep, as we sleep.