in death, there is life.

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👇🏿 ain’t got no time for that? press play for the radical radio recording ✨

in my experience of death ~ death of a loved one, death of a pet, death of a relationship, death of a job, etc ~ you can’t go looking for the life in death. i’ve found that to be a special sort of bypass of the dying experience.

at first death is an ugly traitor to life: to the life you’re living; to the ideas and dreams you had for the future; to those you love dearly. grief, soul-deep sadness, and mortal crippling are necessary. the feelings found post-mortem run the gamut: grief, sadness, despair, anger, agony, bitterness, resentment, unforgiveness, shame, guilt, pain, terror, oblivion, disbelief, shock, rage, disinterest, insecurity, worry, more terror, numbness.

wrenching the ‘death cloth’ free of all of the feelings that are there, really feeling them, embodying them, experiencing them, allowing them to wash through you, until that cloth is wrung out, that’s living the full breadth of the death experience.

then, and only then, is that where the beauty in the pain can emerge.

once you’re spent, heaving in a pile on the ground, shaken and sobbed free of everything that raged through you, you open your eyes and notice that new sprig, green and gracious, shooting straight up in front of you.

there, lying on that ground level dirt mansion of mourning, there is a crack, a wee glimmer of hope, of life.

you can see it now, having hucked yourself into oblivion, long stopped wondering if you’ll ever return, you see the wee bit of life that has emerged from this saturated soil you lay in.

one sprig. one brave, beautiful, courageous, life giving sprig.

it’s like the great mother has blessed your soul, and your soul alone, in this way. reminding you here, as you lay naked, reborn on the ground: in the strangeness of death, there is life.

may you wrench the wreck and arrive in the soil, saturated, so-full, and alive.

i love you,

xxo ~k 💙

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