The soul has wings that bring it forth into the wonder we know as Life, it comes to us from the Sommerlands, from Heaven, from the Unknown. In this state of Life, it can laugh, cry, awaken, mourn, create, frustrate, hope… love. Maybe sometimes the soul isn’t always ready for these wonders, it can be pretty overwhelming to be born, (or reborn) but when does choose to come forth into our marvelous, tumultuous, inspiring little world it is a truly amazing experience. I know this because I have given birth and I knew the moment I looked into Damian’s eyes that his radiant soul knew it too. Who knew one tiny blue speck in the vastness of the universe could harbor such amazing potential?

Life, as we known it, begins and ends, what comes before or after is a mystery to most. I know the soul exists, the evidence is in my dreams, Damian’s soul came to me on wings. I accept that come people don’t agree, some people see my evidence as simple faith but my faith makes all things possible. I definitely believe in the divine, maybe not a single omnipotent being, but I believe that there are sacred forces out there that are worthy of my respect.

To me Life is most certainly only one side of a coin, the Mystery is the other. Death (and Birth) I suppose is that thin edge connecting the two. It is a turning point, a veil, obscuring the great beyond. Many of us feel apprehension as we look at Death (and as we wait for a Birth too.) Why, do we fear the Mystery? To people of faith, we might feel an understanding of the Mystery, but even we see the transition as daunting and sometimes terrifying, both to watch and experience.

Everything must eventually die. From the body the soul takes flight once more back into the Mystery, into the embracing, welcoming and joyous light of the divine. For some, the ancestors who have not yet returned to Life will be there to greet them under the golden apple trees of the Sommerlands, for others all their loved ones in Heaven as well as God will be there with open arms. I know those I love and who have crossed over look back at us and smile. They send their love and check in from time to time.

Birth is a celebration, the midwifing a beautiful soul into our world. It is a mysterious and wondrous transition. Death is also mysterious but should it be celebrated? Sometimes the dieing are fortunate enough to be comforted, to be midwifed back into the Mystery, surrounded by those who love them. We hold varying degrees of rituals and celebrations for those who pass on. I do think some kind of farewell is necessary, if only to bring comfort to our own souls.

I had a dream last night, and echo of one I had when I was a few months pregnant, when I condor brought me Damian’s soul. I watched the condor as it lead a shinning flying soul into the starlit sky and the light of that soul grew as it rose, a blazing lantern at first, then a radiant sun, then an all colorful shifting blue and gold light, the aura that which faded into a streaking shooting star passing over the horizon of our Wild Old Mama Earth.

I knew I had to share the dream when I woke up, so here we are at the end of my post. I am a bit lacking for some form of eloquent conclusion so I will share I little Eskimo legend I heard once that seems strangely fitting with that dream.

On the darkest nights, near the stairway from Earth to the Sky (the constellation we know as Orion,) the ancestors come out to dance. The stars are the lights around their dance floor and they are the Gulla, the aura. They are letting us know that they are happy.

“You would know the secret of death
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
For death and life are one, even as a river and the sea are one.
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and melt into into the sun?
And what is it to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides,
That it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?”
– Kahlil Gibran

Lately I have been working on a podcast about death from a Pagan (or rather from this Pagan’s) perspective. I have experienced several kinds of death in my life, but most recently two people I love have loved ones close to death. One person’s mother is days, maybe even hours away from cancer taking her and the other will probably miscarry within a few weeks due to a genetic problem with her baby. Both these deaths are so different, and evoke totally different emotional conflicts in me.

My heart goes out to the mother of my friend and his family. I have seen cancer destroy an elderly friend first hand and witnesses her family’s bravery as they midwifed her final moments. I led the crossing over ritual with them as we called on the spirits to guide her soul into the Sommerlands and I grieved her death. I also celebrate her life though. She had a chance to live, to love, to laugh and smile. I think everyone’s life is worth remember, their accomplishments worth appreciating, and their faith worth respecting. From what I hear of my friend’s mother, her life sounds like it was amazing and it is a comfort to know she will die surrounded by those who love her so deeply.

With miscarriage… I don’t know where to begin the grief process. My heart flies out to the parents of the unborn child but my mind will not cannot go there emotionally. Not that I am detached from the loss, but maybe it is because I do not know the unborn child. I think in the case of miscarriage I grieve more for the mother’s grief if that makes sense. As a pregnant woman, I knew Damian in the womb in a way only I could. I knew I wanted him, I knew I would adore everything about him, I know how he felt, I just knew him. The pain of the thought of losing him is it just too great for my mind to dwell on. Maybe that is why I cannot stay on the thought of the baby dying.

I have my own beliefs regarding the afterlife of course, but I think that they are relatively moot when it comes to comforting someone who has lost a loved one. The words always seem lacking when the moment comes to offer them. “I’m sorry.” seems empty, “Is there anything I can do?” seems nosy, “I feel your loss.” seems dismissive. Proclamations of faith (particularly a faith that conflicts with those who have lost) seem so misplaced. I have a book on Pagan death and a few others with stories of crossing over that I can refer to, I can feel the comfort they offer in my soul but can never seem to put it into words (maybe this is why the podcast I am working on is so tough.)

When I am with someone who is grieving all I want to do is hold them like I hold my own child, with complete love, devoid of judgment and inspired by a hope that tomorrow will be a better day. Is that wrong? Should I have more to say? Or is that enough?

90 years ago today the Armistice that ended World War I was signed. (It is where we get the phrase “the eleventh hour” in fact since it was signed on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month.)

Over 20 million people, both military and civilian died and 21 million were wounded. Think about that number for a moment, 41 million people.

• That is more people then in the entire state of California.
• It is more then twice the population of New York State.
• 41 million is 16 times the population of Toronto.

Since World War I, we of course had World War II, the deadliest war in history, over 72 million people – men, women and children, lost their lives. The world has had countless other wars, 5 million died in Vietnam, 5.4 million in the Second Congo War… 4193 Americans have died in the current war in Iraq, over 1,000,000 Iraqis have died, though there are no exact numbers.

I am not saying all this to make an pro or anti-war stance, just think about the numbers for a minute. To me they speak for themselves to the horror of war. I saw a picture of a girl a child who had been raped to death in Africa during the Rwandan genocide in 1994 (where over 800,000 were killed in only 100 days, less then 4 months.) That is one of the faces of war, the kind that haunts one’s dreams for a lifetime. I think it is the face we should remember when we talk about going to war or being in a war, it is not just soldiers’ families who are effected. War effects everyone.

Anyhow, today is Veterans Day. I give my love and support to those who have and must endure war, both civilian and military. The pictures are enough to change me forever, I can’t even begin to imagine what seeing killing like that in person does to someone. I pray for those people, that they might find hope to live through it and peace after.

One lamp – thy mother’s love – amid the stars
Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before
The throne of God, burn through eternity -
Holy – as it was lit and lent thee here.

~ Nathaniel Parker Willis

Damian turned four months old today. He had a check up with Dr Kincaid this afternoon and he is healthy and perfect in every way (and teething!) This evening her crawled all the way across the bed. I’m so insanely proud. I cannot believe how fast time has gone by, four months already!

And yet… I can hardly imagine life without my Bumblebee. When I try to imagine it, my existence feels so incomplete without him. When I look at Damian (growing so fast!) soundly sleeping against my legs as I type this, I know that I would do anything for him. I know that I would give my life to protect him, I would have given my life even before he was born to protect him. I wonder if all mothers feel this way?

Some might say (and have said,) it has only been four months, how can I be so certain of the depth and berth of my love for my son? In response I can only say, how could I ever be uncertain? My love for Damian echoes in every cell, in every molecule of my being. No matter how much he can frustrate me, I always love him. I loved him before I met him.

Recently, in one of my online communities, a mother lost her three month old daughter to SIDS. I cannot even begin to fathom that kind of pain. Quite literally, my mind will not even allow my thoughts to wander in that direction, there is a white hot wall of agony barring my mind from dwelling on that horrific thought for more then a second. My heart has never ached so much at any other thought. The mother of that baby left the community, questioning if she should even be in the group anymore, as she was no longer a mother.

I wanted to cry out and wrap my arms around her, holding her as much to sooth her pain as my own. I want to cry “You will ALWAYS be a mother!” Even if she must wait till the end of her days on this Earth to hold her child again. I truly and deeply believe her baby will be waiting for her in the life after, unchanged in the face of time and in the care of angels.

Motherhood is a transformation of self that can never be reversed. Damian is a part of me. I will never again be the same person as I was before he was conceived. To be a mother is to acknowledge a love so infinite that even God stands in awe of its power. It is to be Goddess. Such a bond cannot be broken, especially not by mortal death, for as long as we draw breath, the memories of our children live on in this world. And when we draw breath no more, we will find ourselves in the Sommerlands with them running into our arms.

I wonder if all mothers feel this way?

(Photo taken by Andrea and fiddled with by me.)

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1

When someone’s time comes and they pass beyond the veil it is a sad experience for those who remain in this world. We can usually take some consolation if their passing was from natural causes. Last year my friend’s mother passed away after a long battle with ovarian cancer. When she finally left us, her death felt more like a release then anything else. Her immortal soul was freed from her suffering body.

When people have their lives ripped from them by murder, no part of my mind is able to comprehend it. It is so much harder to cope with death when it comes without reason or warning. The violence humanity seems capable of inflicting upon one another is so overwhelming, it sometimes feels as if our culture is addicted to violence more than love. It pushes my mind to into an emotional void that I do not like the dwell it but that is very hard to escape from. Oddly I feel no vengeance towards towards those who steal these lives, somehow my heart cannot contribute to the violence their actions spawns.

I can’t honestly say that I feel compassion for these people either, I want to feel outraged, but I just feel tremendous sadness. I wonder what forces in life push a person into believing hatred and murder are acceptable? Though I am not Christians I have usually found comfort in the words above from Ecclesiastes, I recognize that my soul needs to believe that there is a reason for everything. However if you read the passage further it goes on to say that there is a time for killing, war and hate. All of which I do not have room for in my heart. Maybe an Ojibway prayer is more fitting:

Grandfather,
Look at our brokenness.

We know that in all creation
Only the human family
Has strayed from the Sacred Way.

We know that we are the ones
Who are divided
And we are the ones
Who must come back together
To walk in the Sacred Way.

Grandfather,
Sacred One,
Teach us love, compassion, and honor
That we may heal the Earth
And heal each other.

People often say that we must heal the earth for the sake of our children, because they are the ones who will inherit it, but I wonder, who will heal humanity? We are broken too. Do we have what it takes to heal the earth and heal each other?