Halloween.  Samhain. All Saints Day.  All Souls Day. Diwali. The Day of the Dead.

The lifting of the veil between the world of the living and world of the dead. The arrival of the darkest days of the year.

I am grateful for a holiday, a holy day, devoted to celebrating life’s greatest and most terrifying mystery.  Death.

We live on a planet that has a life, death, and rebirth cycle.  But as individual human beings, we personally, don’t get reborn.  And actually no life—no seed, plant, or root does.

Dying is always a transformation.  The new leaves of spring look like those of last year.  Children bear resemblance to their parents.  But it’s not the same leaf, and children are not their parents. 

Yet, life at its essence renews.  It continues in new, similar, evolving forms from one generation to the next. 

Cycles and continuance are what present the greatest hope and the greatest fear.  Our individual annihilation is what we alternately deny, grapple with, struggle against, make peace with, and gracefully accept and celebrate. 

As a woman approaching menopause, I am keenly aware that my ability to give life in the form of a newborn child is over.  I can dye my hair, eat more fruits and vegetables, buy some anti-wrinkle cream, and whiten my teeth, but if I don’t do some really hard spiritual work, underneath illusions of youth and vitality, my soul will despair.  It will long for the peace at the end of the mystery.  My soul will long for the joy that comes only after the struggle with the Angel of Death is over.

I can fight the inevitable all I want, but I have the feeling that if I keep fighting the aging process, the long, slow march toward the great mystery, the other side of the veil, I will miss out on a deeper understanding of beauty, grace, and wisdom.  After all, it’s the infinite darkness that makes even the faintest stars appear.  Fall leaves reveal hidden flames of color before they give up the ghost.

As the years behind me accumulate, I’m trying to learn from the leaves. I’m looking for the glow that’s beneath the surface.  The fire there needs tending. 

I need to go into the backyard, gather kindling, and light a bonfire that sends sparks into the night.  I need to sit beside it, swelling with gratitude for this day, this moment, dying of love for the world that for a while longer, I am a part of.

-Radiance Writer

October 31, 2022

Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash