Winter\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Imbolc Moon<\/p>\n
Been thinking about dying recently. No, really. In a good way. I try to imagine myself dead at least 5 times a day, my body lying on a small tilted table awaiting cremation. Kate and I saw her mother, Rebecca, just like that.<\/p>\n
When I get done with that imaging, usually brief, this song keeps coming up from the far away days of the early 70’s. And it still works for me. In fact, it has an existential content now that’s far more profound than when I first heard it.<\/p>\n
When I received the consolation of Deer Creek Canyon shortly after my cancer diagnosis, the mountains forming the Deer Creek valley accepted my short life, my mayfly life against their millions of years.<\/p>\n
This song reminds me of something many of us notice when someone close dies, one child is born to carry on. By implication, of course, that means you were that child for someone dying around the time you were born. Living and dying. Beltane to Samain, Samain to Beltane. We are part of the Great Wheel, rolling with it as it goes, in living and in dying.<\/p>\n