There have been so many deaths around me of late so it feels appropriate to write about this transition now.
I have never been afraid of death and have seen it as a beautiful transition that is a natural part of being. I’ve watched that transition many times and have seen the root chakra just gently close and appear to be absorbed, then the sacral and so on, until the whole soul exits in the astral body through the crown. It has usually felt like a gentle withdrawal of the real essence, leaving the empty vehicle behind. It feels beautiful to me, and in some ways like a birth – the soul appearing sometimes looking a bit confused as to what just happened, ‘where am I now’ and then bit by bit the dawning of clarity. I’ve written a lot about it so I won’t do that here.
But more and more I watch the effect on those still here as they are temporarily up-rooted and unsteady; their sacral chakra with its torn bonds rendering them out of balance and unable to find harmony. The torn solar plexus bonds leaving them feeling disempowered and unable to feel their usual motivation and drive, their solar plexus being unable to store emotions since there are so many unexpected ones pouring in, pouring out, tumbling one after another. Herts are torn and love feels exquisitely painful as the recipient of that love is no longer here to give it to. And so on – every chakra so tender; every bit of ‘normal’ life affected and the whole in constant motion and our capacity to take command shaky at best and often non existent. There seems to be nothing we can do but just breathe through the next moment until we may find a steady bit of ground, though this too will dissolve quickly enough and leave us floundering yet again.
What I’ve found is that my reaction to death is unpredictable. Sometimes the divine order of it is very clear and though I may hurt, it’s OK. Then sometimes I find myself objecting very strongly, and sometimes observe myself as in a single hour I can go through all of the ‘stages of grief’ one after another or, confusingly, simultaneously. And of course the grief doesn’t wait until the moment the person leaves… I feel to have been grieving sometimes for five or six months as I watch parts of the function or each human being ‘die’ and know that it won’t be coming back. I think this prolonging of the process we call death is so excruciatingly painful and destructive to those who are close or who are caring for someone who is dying. I’m in awe of people who do that… and yes, it’s part of the journey of their soul too, but so so painful. In the distant healing section on my forum (See Brenda online) we are supporting not only those who may have now chosen to leave, but also those who are escorting them on this final part of their earth’s journey. Those who don’t get enough time for themselves, who are frightened, who are tired, exhausted even, who can no longer laugh or feel joy and parts of them feel as though they are dying too. And death may finally come as a relief… at least our loved one is no longer in pain, but then the time for repair of our own wounds is just beginning… and we too need to be held tenderly as we try to recover and transform around this huge hole in our lives.
But I’m also thinking of the death of other things. How in the death of a relationship – or the transformation from what was, or the expectations of what might be, to the cold reality of what is – we suffer a similar death experience and often the pain is so deep because there seems to be no closure; the other is alive but choosing to be elsewhere perhaps, and we are alone with our grief.
The uniqueness of every grief adds to the loss I think, in that no one can feel exactly what we feel; there are attempts to understand and we lamely try to describe stages of grief and the process, which I’m sure is useful, but to whom? The person grieving is in a place that no one has ever been before, a unique place that only they inhabit, even though many around them may also be grieving, each in their little unique bubble. And yet as we touch each other, support each other, bathe our wounds together, help sooth each other, there is a sharing of the grief and a healing bit by bit.
For me there have been so many griefs – each very different, each having a unique character that is dictated by the relationship, the love, the shared experience of life and the closeness or otherwise that I may have felt. It feels important to honour every aspect of grief and then when we’re able, which might be in an instant or over years, begin to acknowledge the whole journey and that the moment of ‘death’ is just that, a moment, though often preceded by years of moments and succeeded by even more moments or even years of recovering from the wound.
So this morning I’m sending much love and healing and solace if I can to all those who are somehow in the process of death and dying – either their own process knowing that they are personally on that journey of preparing to leave, or those who are accompanying but also feeling the process of having to accept the coming death of a loved one or a relationship. And those heroically tending to the dying, and those tending to those who are grieving. And I want to make a toast to life and the fact that life is indestructible – it just changes form.
Much love, much healing, much compassion and much hope