DEATH. There. I have said it. Isn’t that what Hallowe’en, All Saints, Samhain are all about? The mystery, the vastness, the strange seeming finality of it all. But if we coat it in lots of sugar and a funny costume, it becomes so much easier to think (or rather not to think) about it.
We live in interesting times when societies and cultures that celebrated with awe, worshiped and mourned their place among the mysteriously massive forces of nature, appear “primitive”. And yet how very modern and scientifically advanced of us to seek numbness at all costs. Both – birth and death – have become heavily medicated in order to push away the possible pain, the uncertainty, the fear of the start and the end of our bodily experience here on this planet. The inability to fully grasp what is (or is not?) beyond the veil frightens us to no end.
But what if… we don’t have to birth, age or die even in the way that has been ingrained in us? What if it can all be elevated, worshiped, witnessed with wonder? What if it can be consciously conjured up? Chosen? Prepared for without fear but with utmost awe, curiosity and surrender? What if you could plan your own grand exit? What if you could look forward to it – at the end of all those incredible experiences, all that expansion there is for your soul’s journey?
Well. I’d like to go at the age of 110. And I’d invite everyone I know. We’d gather around a huge bonfire, barefoot and everyone would wear white. We’d share favourite memories and give thanks as we gently release each other from all the promises and unfinished bonds. There would be lots of chocolate and cacao. Lots of hugs and holding of hands. Lots of laughter and tears of tenderness. I’d hand out tiny gifts – my fountain pens to a promising enthusiast writer in the family, a pet rat to someone gentle. And then we would dance. To the beating of drums, and chants, and singing. For hours until I could dance no more. I’d then quietly sneak off and lie down in the field on a soft dewy grass. I’d look up at the endless starry sky above and, with a massive grin, still out of breath from dancing – whoah! – I’d swoosh out of my body.
So… that’s my plan. What’s yours?Tags: conscious death manifesting your future Traveler's Notebook