Oh, Julie, your writing always touches me, but this is truly a masterpiece. I am in awe of your ability to translate grief into words, beautiful words of eternal wisdom. I am profoundly moved by this post. I also love that Kashmir Shaivism is yet another path we have both walked. The image you paint of the breath of life recreating physical reality in each "moment" is exquisite. I'll be holding that in my heart for quite some time. I have a candle for your beloved friend on my altar and continue to send you love and hugs during this time. Holding you tight, dear friend. ❤️❤️❤️
Jenna, thanks so much for lighting a candle for my friend. I felt him for the first time yesterday morning while in ritual. We even had a short conversation, bringing calm to my soul.
And Thanks again for your touching words around my post, that moved me very deeply. And I love all the similiar past movements we share, looking forward to our next meeting and conversation! ❤️
What a remarkable and timely post for me. First, my wife died at home fourteen years ago with the immediate family there when she inhaled and exhaled her last breath. You have described that moment so eloquently. I found your description comforting, therapeutic. I love the way you have parsed the moment that contains our entire existence as it comes and goes, making room for the next. This is timely since I struggle to negotiate the chaos in which we are living, since I have have just, in a previous Substack, an urge to reconnect with a past practice of Mindfulness. I am writing a book and Substack both titled the Destination is now. Thank you for your insightful post.
Thank you Peter, I am both glad and moved that this was comforting for you. Death and grief is not easy. And to be present with it as each breath, maybe a beautiful opportunity, it's also a challenging task. Wonderful that you are reconnecting with mindfulness, and I love the title "Destination is Now". So true, each breath, each moment, right here, right now. With an open heart, my condolences around the passing of your wife. In so many ways the years don't matter when it can feel so fresh today.
As always you have given me much to think about. Reading your description of the breathing process is timely as a deal with a respiratory thing; from the violent exhalation counting fits to holding my breath in the rare moments I feel I reached a full inhalation. Now I'm curious where else I am holding my breath and why.
I don't have a very comfortable relationship with death (but how many do?). With my sister's death earlier this year I have continued a pattern of putting the dead in a 'past tense' box and closed the lid. I wonder how using your breathing metaphor I might learn clues as to why.
Thank you my friend for keeping my thought plate full!
Great seeing you last night Marie! Yes, in our current culture I sense a big tendency to put the dead in a "'past tense' box." In our fast-paced society that would be necessary to keep up. No time to deal with the feelings that arise when someone passes. Supporting and feeding into the fear of death.
What if we just breathe with death. After all every cycle of our respiration is a birth and a dying. And what if death is not bad or dangerous. Just part of being alive. As I look at nature, I recognize a survival instinct. A natural fight to live. That is beautiful, we all have this. And then there is the time where death is at the door. Animals don’t bargain or plead. They know better than we as humans do. There still might be a fight which is natural, but there is also recognition. The cycle spinning. The wheel turning. The weaving unraveling…
Thank you dear Julie. All your words land beautifully in my heart. I have been slowly befriending death over the years. Thinking of sitting with my Dad and counting how long between breaths was profound as he worked his way to the last. I would be arrogant to say that I don't have some fear about what it means to die. Yes, I now totally embrace the cycle as perfect with no end (death feels like birth in reverse.) but I’m sure when it’s my turn (if it isn’t sudden) I might feel at some point like bungee jumping into the dark. I said that to my Dad as he was dying and added that we will all be doing it soon and he replied, “I hope you’re right Rebecca”. 💛
Thanks Becky! We all walk with death in some way for death does come to us all. I agree, death feels like a birth in reverse, a gateway to another way of being. I too ponder last days, moments, breaths... I am more comfortable with it now more than ever, and I too have fear. I feel it in my natural human animal survival instincts, my not wanting to be in pain, not wanting to let go of what I love. Feels like all the losses I have experiences, no matter what they are, small or big, they are all teaching me how to die.
Thanks for sharing about your time with your dad as he was dying, "bungee jumping into the dark." Beautiful.
Before I retired I watched the initial breath of life when I attended births. That tense moment when you are all willing this tiny, new human to take its first breath. I have been in attend the when it was known that the baby would NEVER take that breath.
As a nurse, I have been at the end of lives, when the final breath was taken. When you didn't know if this would be the last one because at the end there e is often many moments between breaths...
Then my Mama died and both of these thoughts came together. She had witnessed my first breaths, holding me close to her, and here I stood holding her as she took her final breath.
Your quote sums it up perfectly, it was a lifetime, in a breath.
Thanks, CamaLily! So beautiful what you expressed about when your Mama died. Her as the witness to your first breaths, you as the witness to her last one. A very precious and tender recognition.
These cycles are everywhere, aren't they? And it seems to always come back to our respiration and life's breathing in and breathing out. Creating and birthing – destroying and dying. An ongoing dance in so many forms.
Oh, Julie, your writing always touches me, but this is truly a masterpiece. I am in awe of your ability to translate grief into words, beautiful words of eternal wisdom. I am profoundly moved by this post. I also love that Kashmir Shaivism is yet another path we have both walked. The image you paint of the breath of life recreating physical reality in each "moment" is exquisite. I'll be holding that in my heart for quite some time. I have a candle for your beloved friend on my altar and continue to send you love and hugs during this time. Holding you tight, dear friend. ❤️❤️❤️
Jenna, thanks so much for lighting a candle for my friend. I felt him for the first time yesterday morning while in ritual. We even had a short conversation, bringing calm to my soul.
And Thanks again for your touching words around my post, that moved me very deeply. And I love all the similiar past movements we share, looking forward to our next meeting and conversation! ❤️
What a remarkable and timely post for me. First, my wife died at home fourteen years ago with the immediate family there when she inhaled and exhaled her last breath. You have described that moment so eloquently. I found your description comforting, therapeutic. I love the way you have parsed the moment that contains our entire existence as it comes and goes, making room for the next. This is timely since I struggle to negotiate the chaos in which we are living, since I have have just, in a previous Substack, an urge to reconnect with a past practice of Mindfulness. I am writing a book and Substack both titled the Destination is now. Thank you for your insightful post.
Thank you Peter, I am both glad and moved that this was comforting for you. Death and grief is not easy. And to be present with it as each breath, maybe a beautiful opportunity, it's also a challenging task. Wonderful that you are reconnecting with mindfulness, and I love the title "Destination is Now". So true, each breath, each moment, right here, right now. With an open heart, my condolences around the passing of your wife. In so many ways the years don't matter when it can feel so fresh today.
As always you have given me much to think about. Reading your description of the breathing process is timely as a deal with a respiratory thing; from the violent exhalation counting fits to holding my breath in the rare moments I feel I reached a full inhalation. Now I'm curious where else I am holding my breath and why.
I don't have a very comfortable relationship with death (but how many do?). With my sister's death earlier this year I have continued a pattern of putting the dead in a 'past tense' box and closed the lid. I wonder how using your breathing metaphor I might learn clues as to why.
Thank you my friend for keeping my thought plate full!
Great seeing you last night Marie! Yes, in our current culture I sense a big tendency to put the dead in a "'past tense' box." In our fast-paced society that would be necessary to keep up. No time to deal with the feelings that arise when someone passes. Supporting and feeding into the fear of death.
What if we just breathe with death. After all every cycle of our respiration is a birth and a dying. And what if death is not bad or dangerous. Just part of being alive. As I look at nature, I recognize a survival instinct. A natural fight to live. That is beautiful, we all have this. And then there is the time where death is at the door. Animals don’t bargain or plead. They know better than we as humans do. There still might be a fight which is natural, but there is also recognition. The cycle spinning. The wheel turning. The weaving unraveling…
Thank you dear Julie. All your words land beautifully in my heart. I have been slowly befriending death over the years. Thinking of sitting with my Dad and counting how long between breaths was profound as he worked his way to the last. I would be arrogant to say that I don't have some fear about what it means to die. Yes, I now totally embrace the cycle as perfect with no end (death feels like birth in reverse.) but I’m sure when it’s my turn (if it isn’t sudden) I might feel at some point like bungee jumping into the dark. I said that to my Dad as he was dying and added that we will all be doing it soon and he replied, “I hope you’re right Rebecca”. 💛
Thanks Becky! We all walk with death in some way for death does come to us all. I agree, death feels like a birth in reverse, a gateway to another way of being. I too ponder last days, moments, breaths... I am more comfortable with it now more than ever, and I too have fear. I feel it in my natural human animal survival instincts, my not wanting to be in pain, not wanting to let go of what I love. Feels like all the losses I have experiences, no matter what they are, small or big, they are all teaching me how to die.
Thanks for sharing about your time with your dad as he was dying, "bungee jumping into the dark." Beautiful.
Wow, such stunning writing, capturing the beauty in the complexity of feeling emotions.
I am touched by your comment, thank you Simone!
I am grateful for this platform of stunning writers such as yourself, offering each other windows of acceptance. 💜
Before I retired I watched the initial breath of life when I attended births. That tense moment when you are all willing this tiny, new human to take its first breath. I have been in attend the when it was known that the baby would NEVER take that breath.
As a nurse, I have been at the end of lives, when the final breath was taken. When you didn't know if this would be the last one because at the end there e is often many moments between breaths...
Then my Mama died and both of these thoughts came together. She had witnessed my first breaths, holding me close to her, and here I stood holding her as she took her final breath.
Your quote sums it up perfectly, it was a lifetime, in a breath.
Thank you for your insight.
Thanks, CamaLily! So beautiful what you expressed about when your Mama died. Her as the witness to your first breaths, you as the witness to her last one. A very precious and tender recognition.
These cycles are everywhere, aren't they? And it seems to always come back to our respiration and life's breathing in and breathing out. Creating and birthing – destroying and dying. An ongoing dance in so many forms.