What does it mean to live fully when you know you're going to die?

This is the question Mirabai lived inside of every day. She loved a god she couldn't touch. She wrote poetry she knew the world might not understand. She danced in the streets. She didn't wait for certainty. Mortality isn't a problem to solve. It's an invitation—to stop waiting, to stop editing yourself for a future that's less real than you think. Mirabai knew her time was finite. So she loved with everything. She wasn't reckless. She was awake. Living fully doesn't mean doing everything or saying yes to everything. It means doing the things that actually matter to you—even when they're small, even when they're difficult, even when no one else gets it. It means speaking the true thing instead of the safe thing, sometimes. It means letting people close enough to hurt you because the alternative is never being touched. Start small: What's one thing you've been waiting to do until conditions were perfect? They won't be. Do it anyway, imperfectly. Write the letter. Call them. Take the class. Paint badly. Ask for what you need. Mortality isn't a threat—it's permission to stop rehearsing your life and actually live it.