I Find It Hard To Tell You Cuz I Find It Hard To Take
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
‘Cos I find it hard to take
-Mad, Mad World by Tears For Fears
I’m dying.
This is true on many levels. On the simplest of levels, all living organisms are in the process of decay, and the natural end of that process is death. So yes, you and I, Aunt Tilly, your next door neighbor, your spouse and lovers, your pets, even your favorite plants are dying right now. It may be a slow process that takes 30 or 40 years, but it’s still happening.
I grew up with a parent who was always dying. Because of that, at a young age I took a good look at the idea of mortality, of the cycles of life and death, and the process of dying. What’s miraculous is that parent is still alive, but just like when I was a child, it would never surprise me to learn of her death. Every time I get an unexpected phone call from my sister, I have a moment where I accept that my mother could be dead.
But this isn’t about my mother. This is about me. I could tell you a couple of stories that have lead me to the conviction that I am on a timeline, a shorter one than originally expected, but some of these are still a bit too personal to share with just any ol’ stranger that happens upon my blog. I will share that I feel it in my body, when in deep meditative conversations with my physical being, it tells me that I am definitely in the process of decay. And I trust my body.
No doctor has given me some grim “you-have-six-months-to-live” talking to, but honestly, I wonder if it’s because no one knows what’s wrong with me. When we were talking about cancer, I did get a little “be prepared for anything” talk, but I’ve been prepared for anything since six months into this journey.
For the last five months, I have been doing a great deal of soul searching on the subject of death and dying. I’m a Libra, and we like to “rehearse” what we think is going to happen to us in our heads so when the time comes we have a better understanding and have already made decisions based on our projections. It’s also something that I need to do spiritually, because like a lot of people, the concept of my death scared me. As someone who prides themselves on continually pushing emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual boundaries, learning to come to terms with my own demise is definitely on that list of ‘shit I should be dealing with.”
Part of me can’t wait to die. It’s not that I’m suicidal, although I get very depressed sometimes. It’s more that my body has been through so much pain and stress that the idea that one day it will come to an end is a pleasant one. I’d be a liar if I said that getting up and being a human every day is an easy thing for me; on really bad days, I’m sure you can imagine what it might be like. Since I have a strong faith that some part of my essence will be re-created once this body is done using it, I’m kind of excited to see what that experience feels like.
On the other hand, there are parts of my life that I feel strongly attached to. I have absolutely no desire to leave my spouse, and want to spend as much time as humanly possible with him. I have put a great deal of work into my girl, and I don’t want to leave that project unfinished. There are numerous things on my “bucket list” that I have yet to accomplish. I love my ability to help people with their spiritual lives, and I just don’t know how much of that I can do from the Other Side. And I like eating and sex and touching things and hugs (sometimes) and all those other things you sorta need a body to do.
Wrapped up inside of all of this is the knowledge that I am chronically ill, and as the weird symptoms keep coming, I become more sure that I am destined to die without knowing what happened to me. I mean, it will probably be something simple like a blood clot, heart attack, or stroke; but the years of illness that lead up to it will still be a mystery. I hate that I will likely die with no closure on whatever was attacking my body. Even a renown healer shaman took a look at me and told me that Something is blocking their ability to diagnose what is going on with my body. I accept that it’s meant to be a mystery; I just don’t like it very much.
Part of my work with Baphomet as the God of Rot is facing the brutal truths about my impending death. But there’s something full of grace, of spiritual necessity, when you accept the role of the Dying Man. I can take your secrets to the grave, for starters, which makes me a great confidant. I have the ability to share this energy on a small scale, to eat away at energetic blockages, or help heal infection, or to work with cancer treatments, because my own personal energy is rife with Decay. I’ve been tasked with bringing more awareness to the part of the cycle of life that most pagans avoid – we love talking about springing from the earth, and taking in the sunlight, and the eventual harvest in the fall, but we get very silent when it comes to the grain rotting into the earth, to make it fertile for the sprouts in the spring. We talk about an Earth Mother, without acknowledging how much death and decay play a part in what makes the earth able to sustain life.
You need me as much as I need you, says Death.
Or, in better words, “There is no away,” says Lee Harrington. We talk about throwing things away, that our loved ones have gone away, but really, there is no mythical land of “Away” that is full of garbage and dead people. All of that is rotting (except for the stuff that ain’t), stinking, masses of decay that we desperately try to hide from.
So I just want you to know that I’m dying. And if my intel is right, it will be sooner rather than later. And that I’m mostly okay with that. The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had.
Dying for a Diagnosis 