It's Not Death, It's The Dying That Hurts Me So

This is going to be one of those long, poorly thought out posts, but I want to get it all out before I forget some of this stuff. BTW, I started writing this last night. I'm not changing a word.

I dislike fall, a great deal. Oh, there are some things about it I like, but my life always seems to go to hell this time of year. At least since becoming pagan. Most of my romantic relationships have ended in the fall. My body reacts badly to the constantly changing temperatures. I have at least one major spiritual crisis each fall. Fall is when I return to work at a job I often love and hate passionately and all at once. I'm short tempered, worn out, afraid. Man, fuck fall.

But I love winter. I love the music and the bell ringers on the corner. I love family visits and hot buttered rum, and my family cookies. I love evergreen and holly. I love Yule and Christmas. I love giving presents and I love getting presents. I love the parties. I love the community togetherness of the season which is unmatched at other times of the year.

All my life I've been afraid of death. It seems that I've always been aware of my own mortality. The act of dying frightens me beyond telling. I'm also really bad at dealing with others who are dying. I've been through it too many times. Let's face it, if you've spoon-fed applesauce to your skeletal father before you've graduated from high school, certain images and situations are going to be fraught with emotional peril. Dying is an ugly painful process. I can't stand funerals, memorial services, devotionals, or any group grieving situation. Even if I didn't know the person, the weight of others' grief is often overwhelming. This is why I don't go to the Ghede devotional any more.

Conversely, the post death experience doesn't have any of these emotions attached. After the funeral the community gathers together. Those still living need support. Comfort is offered and taken. Good times are slowly reestablished. That's Yule. Everything is done dying, and now the living gather together to celebrate the return of life.

Is that what dying is too? A chance to go around once more? An ugly process that leads to it's own beautiful beginning? Of course, while I'm writing all this the power goes out on my block. My neighbor's kid is running up and down walk shouting "everything is dead! Everything is dead!" I'm a pagan, I have a ton of candles, so there is no need to be anything but mildly inconvienced by this "death". I need to find a battery for my alarm clock, take a quick shower, then I'm going to bed until the sun comes out.

When did my life get to be such a goddam metaphor? Oh, yeah. About 15 minutes ago.

So what does it all mean? The universe, in all her wisdom, always gives good honest answers, but they are not often clear. I do think that my fear is misplaced. Not that that stops the lizard brain frompanicing about all this. Can I find peace before the first days of winter?

Or at least after October 31st?

Please?