Beautifully written Julie really enjoyed this read. I have similar wisdom around death that I have learned from her along my journey of life. The two are so closely intertwined it is hard to tell them apart. They simultaneously unfold each day. I wrote this a while back that I feel you’d find interesting: https://open.substack.com/pub/soulwisdom/p/endings-beginnings?r=a9uns&utm_medium=ios
This is such a refreshing post, Julie. To see Death essentially as a friend. I love that idea.
I like to see Death as an Ally. As a friend who I can talk to and share my life with. I find it still surprising how society fears death, how society still needs to hang onto life. Without death there is no life. Without the winter there can be no spring. Without the letting go of the inner smaller deaths that come our way we can never find what truly inspires us, what uplifts us, what sustains us. And then, we we do die, because we have let go and had many little deaths, we die differently.
Talking about Death is one of my favourite topics.
Thank you for sharing your story and wisdom with us.
Hi Julie! I really loved this walk through the death card, but also this reflection on the way it lives alongside us. I loved your poem. I lived with fear of my mother dying for years and did what I could to keep her alive. I remember the moment I said to a friend that I was helping her in her last years because I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could before she died, my friend said, "Why don't you spend time with her because you love her and enjoy her company?" It changed everything because in that moment, I let go of fearing death and switched to loving what was. When my mother finally did die it was a beautiful experience. There was sorrow, of course, but even that was beautiful in the way it softened my gaze on the world. Do you know what I mean?
Right now I like getting older. Somehow, it's helping me feel younger--more like the way I did when I was ten, when the world was full of wonder, everything was talking, and all I wanted to do was roam around in nature and spend time with people who laugh and tell good stories.
Thank you for writing this, and for giving me some good questions to think about!
Beautiful share Julie! My connection to death has been one of exploration and curiosity. I had a near-death experience as a little girl, and have supported three souls transition over to their next phase (one being including my fathers just a few weeks ago).
I love that death can always represent a time of rebirth and that it teaches us so much about that cyclical nature. I’m glad that more people are normalizing it, and yet still, are allowing themselves to grieve along the way.
Beatuiful, Julie! You are such a gifted mystic. Thank you so much for your wisdom and sharing your incredible dreams. I've become quite devoted to Death in the last several years as my healing work has taken me more and more in that direction. I see her as deeply feminine (I think you and I have talked about my devotion to Ereshkigal, if not let's add that to the list!🤗) We really do live in a death-phobic culture and I, too, find it disquieting. I love Stephen Jenkinson's work and I believe that a part of our purpose here is to learn to die well. It touches me deeply that you are doing exactly this. Thank you so much for being this example in the world!
Julie, I am both moved and feel a great kinship with you and your communion with death and dying. I recently referred to myself as being on ‘a walk to forever along the trail of grief.’ There have been both metaphorical trails and real trails in the forest and fields and watersheds around the sanctuary of my tiny house in the woods. Season after season of walking with my yellow lab mix lost in thoughts and memories and grating sorrow after the death of my wife in October of 2019. And I have been gifted with many liminal experiences through these walks, through my dreams, through ecstatic experiences, and the discovery of sacred spaces in our forest.
Francis Weller says ‘Slow’ and ‘Down’ and ‘Repetition’ are the primary requirements for Soul work and for tending to our grief. He believes that we as grief walkers, living in a grief phobic culture, need to be rebellious and courageous, to be true and maintain allegiance to the heart that has broken open. But I also do this in keeping fidelity to my wife both in life and in death. And through her death, through the jagged chambers of absence and pain and confusion, I am cutting a new trail back to her. As I walk this trail I discover over and over how much I have been transformed and yet how I can continue to have a relationship with Barbara. This relationship is neither sentimental or maudlin. And I am neither victim or to be pitied.
On the night she died I had enough where to all to realize that my life’s work was, first, to accept that I would never be that person I was with her again. More loss and more to grieve. And, second, that this journey would be shrouded in mystery and such a terrible longing of which I had ever known.
I am drawn to death like a moth to a flame. That flame is mysterious and alluring. Sometimes I get too close. On those days I want to give up this beleaguered body and lie close to her. On those days, giving up and surrendering is required. Yet this is not depression and it is not suicidal. It is just how completely the ‘longing’ has taken over my whole being. On those days I embrace tightly the pillow B died on and weep endlessly and gyrate to Duende, the songs of the Gypsy Kings, until I am spent and exhausted.
Joy is not a requirement of this new embodiment. Happiness either, for that matter. But truth and beauty — Oh, YES! And authenticity and mystery (no solutions necessary) and the imaginal and compassion and witnessing and ‘dog walks’ and poetry and Buster Brown’s icy blue eyes and blonde eyelashes…. And the luminescent green glow and green wounds on Barbara’s translucent skin as her composed body arose from the depths beneath asphalt pavement and I, having had nine sleepless nights, and now, this dream.
Your letter about death as transmutational brings a well of tears. Thank you for your depth of inquiry into the life of death in us all. And thank you for including my recent letters in this, your beautiful letter.
Beholding the beauty of "death by my side" with you. . .
This is such a powerful post Julie, such does our relationship with death change. What is there to b scare of when we know we will return? At this time more than ever we have to embrace those cycles of death and rebirth and transformation as they are preparing us for the future. As the seasons come and go, we are also growing then retreating to bring forth the new. Something to celebrate.
We are energy, and energy transforms itself as it runs through infinite cycles. It never disappears. There is no death. There are only cycles, one after the other. We are eternal.
Beautifully written Julie really enjoyed this read. I have similar wisdom around death that I have learned from her along my journey of life. The two are so closely intertwined it is hard to tell them apart. They simultaneously unfold each day. I wrote this a while back that I feel you’d find interesting: https://open.substack.com/pub/soulwisdom/p/endings-beginnings?r=a9uns&utm_medium=ios
This is such a refreshing post, Julie. To see Death essentially as a friend. I love that idea.
I like to see Death as an Ally. As a friend who I can talk to and share my life with. I find it still surprising how society fears death, how society still needs to hang onto life. Without death there is no life. Without the winter there can be no spring. Without the letting go of the inner smaller deaths that come our way we can never find what truly inspires us, what uplifts us, what sustains us. And then, we we do die, because we have let go and had many little deaths, we die differently.
Talking about Death is one of my favourite topics.
Thank you for sharing your story and wisdom with us.
Hi Julie! I really loved this walk through the death card, but also this reflection on the way it lives alongside us. I loved your poem. I lived with fear of my mother dying for years and did what I could to keep her alive. I remember the moment I said to a friend that I was helping her in her last years because I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could before she died, my friend said, "Why don't you spend time with her because you love her and enjoy her company?" It changed everything because in that moment, I let go of fearing death and switched to loving what was. When my mother finally did die it was a beautiful experience. There was sorrow, of course, but even that was beautiful in the way it softened my gaze on the world. Do you know what I mean?
Right now I like getting older. Somehow, it's helping me feel younger--more like the way I did when I was ten, when the world was full of wonder, everything was talking, and all I wanted to do was roam around in nature and spend time with people who laugh and tell good stories.
Thank you for writing this, and for giving me some good questions to think about!
Beautiful share Julie! My connection to death has been one of exploration and curiosity. I had a near-death experience as a little girl, and have supported three souls transition over to their next phase (one being including my fathers just a few weeks ago).
I love that death can always represent a time of rebirth and that it teaches us so much about that cyclical nature. I’m glad that more people are normalizing it, and yet still, are allowing themselves to grieve along the way.
It reminds me of the composer Franz Schubert’s string quartet ‘Der Tod und das Mädchen’ (Death and the Maiden), based on a song he wrote.
Das Mädchen:
Vorüber! Ach, vorüber!
Geh, wilder Knochenmann!
Ich bin noch jung! Geh, Lieber,
Und rühre mich nicht an.
Und rühre mich nicht an.
Der Tod:
Gieb deine Hand, du schön und zart Gebild!
Bin Freund, und komme nicht, zu strafen.
Sey gutes Muths! Ich bin nicht wild,
Sollst sanft in meinen Armen schlafen!
The Maiden:
Pass me by! Oh, pass me by!
Go, fierce man of bones!
I am still young! Go, dear,
And do not touch me.
And do not touch me.
Death:
Give me your hand, you beautiful and tender form!
I am a friend, and come not to punish.
Be of good cheer! I am not fierce,
Softly shall you sleep in my arms
Beatuiful, Julie! You are such a gifted mystic. Thank you so much for your wisdom and sharing your incredible dreams. I've become quite devoted to Death in the last several years as my healing work has taken me more and more in that direction. I see her as deeply feminine (I think you and I have talked about my devotion to Ereshkigal, if not let's add that to the list!🤗) We really do live in a death-phobic culture and I, too, find it disquieting. I love Stephen Jenkinson's work and I believe that a part of our purpose here is to learn to die well. It touches me deeply that you are doing exactly this. Thank you so much for being this example in the world!
Julie, I am both moved and feel a great kinship with you and your communion with death and dying. I recently referred to myself as being on ‘a walk to forever along the trail of grief.’ There have been both metaphorical trails and real trails in the forest and fields and watersheds around the sanctuary of my tiny house in the woods. Season after season of walking with my yellow lab mix lost in thoughts and memories and grating sorrow after the death of my wife in October of 2019. And I have been gifted with many liminal experiences through these walks, through my dreams, through ecstatic experiences, and the discovery of sacred spaces in our forest.
Francis Weller says ‘Slow’ and ‘Down’ and ‘Repetition’ are the primary requirements for Soul work and for tending to our grief. He believes that we as grief walkers, living in a grief phobic culture, need to be rebellious and courageous, to be true and maintain allegiance to the heart that has broken open. But I also do this in keeping fidelity to my wife both in life and in death. And through her death, through the jagged chambers of absence and pain and confusion, I am cutting a new trail back to her. As I walk this trail I discover over and over how much I have been transformed and yet how I can continue to have a relationship with Barbara. This relationship is neither sentimental or maudlin. And I am neither victim or to be pitied.
On the night she died I had enough where to all to realize that my life’s work was, first, to accept that I would never be that person I was with her again. More loss and more to grieve. And, second, that this journey would be shrouded in mystery and such a terrible longing of which I had ever known.
I am drawn to death like a moth to a flame. That flame is mysterious and alluring. Sometimes I get too close. On those days I want to give up this beleaguered body and lie close to her. On those days, giving up and surrendering is required. Yet this is not depression and it is not suicidal. It is just how completely the ‘longing’ has taken over my whole being. On those days I embrace tightly the pillow B died on and weep endlessly and gyrate to Duende, the songs of the Gypsy Kings, until I am spent and exhausted.
Joy is not a requirement of this new embodiment. Happiness either, for that matter. But truth and beauty — Oh, YES! And authenticity and mystery (no solutions necessary) and the imaginal and compassion and witnessing and ‘dog walks’ and poetry and Buster Brown’s icy blue eyes and blonde eyelashes…. And the luminescent green glow and green wounds on Barbara’s translucent skin as her composed body arose from the depths beneath asphalt pavement and I, having had nine sleepless nights, and now, this dream.
Julie,
Your letter about death as transmutational brings a well of tears. Thank you for your depth of inquiry into the life of death in us all. And thank you for including my recent letters in this, your beautiful letter.
Beholding the beauty of "death by my side" with you. . .
With love,
Renée
This is such a powerful post Julie, such does our relationship with death change. What is there to b scare of when we know we will return? At this time more than ever we have to embrace those cycles of death and rebirth and transformation as they are preparing us for the future. As the seasons come and go, we are also growing then retreating to bring forth the new. Something to celebrate.
We are energy, and energy transforms itself as it runs through infinite cycles. It never disappears. There is no death. There are only cycles, one after the other. We are eternal.
Its not going away, might as well acknowledge each other.
Reminds me of an old (catholic-ish) lent devotional I wandered thru called "Memento Mori"