Terminal

When confronted with death and an end of life journey,

You may need to refocus beliefs that you might had formed and forgotten, or not had reason to define before or perhaps haven’t visited for a while. I had to dip into the mythology of nature worship, check in with different expressions and understandings.

Death is just the next part of the adventure, a journey taking us ever closer to home. That was always clear to me. Some Pagans say that there is a period of reflection, time to revise your life events, reviewing your own understandings as well as others perceptions of your acts. I hope you aren’t surprised. This space is to allow you to question the virtue and malice of your actions and I think it goes that this all helps form the choice your soul makes after the long rest, the long summer or what some people call heaven, this long period which feels like forever and a second at the same time as time is folded in on itself like an neatened blanket. Your own patchwork of experience taking up more and less room at the same time, until you eventually chose another adventure on Earth.

I am at an air port and the waves of grief come thick and fast I’m on my own. Grief is lonely and isolating. I find myself seeking company but the person I want to talk to isn’t contactable.

I keep getting flashbacks to a meditation I used to have on CD. You are in a busy terminal, eventually all clears and you know the way to go and the door to chose.

I can’t help but wonder if Mum is at a busy terminal. I get worried that she is frightened and reminds myself that she is under the gaze of the angels and is being guided by the ancestors we called to meet her. I still get palpitations, a fear rises and I don’t know what it is coming from or for but I am scared. Scared of this word never that has entered my voculary and which I find unbearable. I make myself say the hard words. They land like bricks on other peoples toes. I can see them pinching back the tears and wondering why I’m not crying.

I don’t know why I’m like that. Probably something to do with my mother. Have I always been like this? Too proud to show people my tears unless overwhelmed by full, throw yourself to the floor theatrics? I don’t know. Mum would know. I wish she was here to ask.