(Photo by Michelle, my lovely love...) When I first heard one of the many variations of "Everyone dies alone" I thought, of course I die alone. I now see that particular truth differently- Everything I leave behind is that which is not and never was mine, of me, but not me, that which, after death, I'm unable to retreat from. I’ll do myself a great disservice if I carry my body away from life and leave only my hands to suffer and writhe in a pact of willful separation. With self left suffocating, buried beneath other’s thoughts, other’s slaughter, other’s guilt, other’s sins, other's beliefs, all packed beneath my own personal greed, the void that has no love, and without hands, is unable to dig out from under the rubble, unable to remain loving, remain important, unless I recognize and believe in the whole of Love. Full life has no use for Love’s spirit that's tossed in the ground never to dance again. (Thank you, Love. Thank you, Breath. Thank yo...
(The Weaver's Song)