Into Earths Embrace - A Vision Of My Funeral

Poem

It is a crisp, fall day, and sun is shining bright and warm. The guests have been told to wear whatever they want. Actually, most of you never asked or even considered that it mattered. You know I would not make such a request for specific attire. But in my vision, I see cozy sweaters, knit hats, and several pairs of mittens. I see jeans and sneakers and steel-toed boots. Black hoodies, rainbow scarves, and even someone in a dark gray suit. I can hear the footsteps of large feet, and small feet, and strong and tired feet. Gently crunching leaves, on top of soft ground. Holy ground.

All ground is holy. Even that which has been desecrated, will continue to be holy because mother earth can never be anything else. But today it is holy because it is where my well-worn bones will lay to rest. It is where you will weep, and laugh, and sing, and shout, and whisper as you place this body, lovingly wrapped in a simple, hand made shroud, into earths embrace.

There are flowers that make sense for the season and herbs that will attempt to sooth your aching hearts. This ache is one of grief, wrapped in gratitude and celebration for all that we've shared and all that we've learned. For the work we've done and community we've cared for. For the games and projects and art we've created. The arguments and kerfuffles, sometimes humorous and sometimes heartbreaking. It is for all the life you will continue to live and all the beings you will continue to you love, after the grave has been closed.

Words are shared. Poems are read. Songs are sung. Maybe, if life unfolds according to my prayers, there is a jazz trombone, euphonium, or tuba. The voices of elders, youngers, and babies come together as sweet tears wet the earth and the air is filled with the sounds of love, gratitude, respect, and courage. Birds sing, ravens shout, coyotes yip, and the wind rustles the leaves. This is the soundtrack of a well lived life.

It is brave to show up for me and our community in this way. This is not a sterile affair, and you are not being shielded from the realities of death. We are not meant to grieve alone and we are not meant to be buried by strangers on the clock. Thank you for allowing yourself to go through the motions, as a means of grief-tending for yourself and this beloved collection of weirdos.

The physical work is done. You've filled the grave with fertile earth and planted seeds that will unfurl in the spring. A reason to come back, and see how you, yourself is unfurling after a long winters rest. I am dead, and I will not be cold here in the ground. These bones will be warmed by the fire of transformation, as insects, worms, and microbes do their work deep within the womb of earth.

You wash each other hands, in a ceremonial way. Each pouring water for the other. This water, infused with rose, chamomile, and lavender, a blessing for my grave and a gift for the seeds newly planted. Water is life. Water is sacred. Water is the element of cohesion and the emotional body.

With warm tea in hand, and the scent of tulsi, rose, lavender, spearmint, and licorice filling the air, you sit together in a circle. No one has brought their phone, for fear of being haunted. That is something I specifically requested. But not for me, dear ones, for I am dead. This is another gift I offer you, just for today, just for this moment. Presence.

I want you to feel the earth beneath your feet and in the palm of your hands. To feel the cool air on your skin, and warmth of the sun. I want you see the birds who fly overhead, the squirrels scurrying, and the single butterfly that seems to appear out of no where. I want you to be present in community for each other and yourselves, even if it is uncomfortable, awkward, or weird. Especially if it is weird.

It's getting cold, and some of you go home to rest and wash away this day. You take a beeswax candle and a satchel of loose, herbal tea. Gifts, lovingly put together before I died, specifically for you to drink through the next seven days and weeks that follow. For others, it feels impossible to leave. You linger until the moon rises, reminding you that light shines in the darkest of nights. You sing one last song together, and then slowly walk out in silence, as the moon and spirits guide your way. It is okay to leave this place. Our connection does not end here, and you'll be back in the spring.
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