honoring the process of death

Everything ends. Everything is fleeting, temporary. This feeling, this open wound, this particular phase of the moon — we want it to be the way it is, but it isn't. It is the way it will be, and will be after that.

Don't get too comfortable. Don't get too used to one thing, because it will become another. Don't worry. You won't stay as you are, either. This body is not the same one you had a year ago, ten years ago. Have you kept up with who you are now?

What will you continue to teach after you're gone? Who will have your name in their mouths? What if it is no one? What if you are never internet famous, what if you never run a start-up that is the next cover of Wired, what if you do not leave a patented invention? What will you do with your life if you knew all you had was just your feelings when you create, your connections, your kinetics?

The great divine energy that is all that is loves to experience. The divine loves experiences so much that they have shattered themself into an innumerable amount of beings, each able to feel and see and hear and taste and love in different ways. They are moving through you to explore all there is to explore in your unique form. Do not deny the world your insights.

Do not be so selfish as to keep your gifts to yourself — even if they, too, will be temporary, will end, and may never be what you want them to be.

When something is dying, what happens? A withering, a crash; a crunch, a soft fading. Sometimes, things to do not go between the worlds willingly. Sometimes there is struggle. There is struggle all around, right now, as the old systems are dying.

Rage, rage, into the dying of the light.

Is there struggle in you? What is struggling to die? What should you be letting die with dignity, but aren't? What wishes to sing itself into the great long slumber?

Me, I am shedding layers built up and I cower feeling the wind on my raw skin. It is hard to believe this is better, that this is where I should be: to look at the hard thing that I know will gut me and do it anyway. And I do it, and I do hate it, and that hate fades, and I have done it. Everything is fleeting, temporary.

Everything ends.

This body, too, will be a corpse.

Merry Samhain; happy Halloween.

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