Every Day A Little Death

...Embracing It Determines How You Live.

Today is Friday, the 13th and it’s no surprise I’m writing about my experience with Death from the heart of Mexico. But let me get this out of the way …

My first experience with Death struck before I was born.

Actually…in the womb: the death of my first relationship — no, my mother didn’t die in labor (that would’ve messed me up in a different way) but whatever the potential relationship with her was to be…it ended before I got a chance to meet her. Hospital protocol dictated I was to be removed from the labor room the minute of my birth. My mother was instructed not to look at me, not to reach for me. I was never to see or feel my mother, be held by her, never to breastfeed. So? What do babies know? Everything. After all, we were there.

I know I’m not alone. There are plenty of us adoptees out there. Giving up your unwanted baby was the abortion of the 60s. We rarely talk about the pain because it’s either buried too deep or…someone told us to always be grateful. We were chosen and special and spared a horrible life because of our “brave” adopted parents. Abandonment issues in adoptees are tricky because we deny them in order to pass as one of you. Some are better and hiding it, but any sign of being “othered” for us, can feel like emotional torture. Breakups are akin to being crushed by a Mack truck, squared. Anger directed at us feels like we’re literally suffocating. The slightest disaproval? Akin to isolation in a roach infested jail cell. Something went awry in our pre-natal brains, so they work overtime to keep us alive (no one said “happy”). For me, the slightest hint of abandonment has my insides screaming the same tired battle cry…

Run….Or Die!

My mind thinks it’s protecting me from anything that remotely echoes the moment when I arrived for life, looked for my #1 Point Person and…nope.

I joined a religious cult at seventeen. They’d cherry picked a few scriptures that promised the “Chosen Ones” were going to bypass physical death. Thousands gave up their careers and ambitions (for the time being) to slave away in this quasi-Christian, mystical leaning “spiritual movement” in order to thwart the inevitable.

Who does that!?

Me, for one. Death meant separation. Again. Having attachments yanked from under us is painful. From my grandmother, to my first dog, to my adoptive parents, I didn’t think I’d survive their deaths. Then my dog died, then my grandmother then my parents. It was terrible. As a coping skill, I closed my heart with each loss, knowing more losses were bound to come.

I did a 180 pivot from caring so much it killed me, to going completely numb. With every break up, every death, every rejection, my inner coping mechanism became:

“Fine, I’ll move on — and — I’ll never let myself care again.”

I worked on myself and I got better. But I’m facing loss again and I had a hunch my current visit to Guanajuato would present me with an opportunity to make peace with some of my my core fears around death, loss grief. I didn’t realize how real it would get. I thought I’d got my masters in “Face Your Fears Tourism” in Botswana when I confronted a spider the size of my hand on my pillow — in an electrical blackout. It was a significant step in my “arachna-covery” when I released my delusions that the spider was nine feet high and going to eat me. I was onto my brain! It was trying to trick me never to come back to Africa. I returned three times! And I learned that the most terrifying creepy crawlers aren’t in Africa, but alive and well inside my Janus headed brain — one side blows up my fears while the other screams...

“Run! You’re gonna die!”

In Botswana, I mused that arachnaphobia is not the fear of spiders, it’s the fear of Death. And all of my fears melt into that fear, in different expressions. As for the spiders, turns out there are thousands of them and they aren’t going anywhere. They live inside homes like family members. After a month in the Village, I grew to accept the hand-size jumping spiders and discovered that my acceptance gave me freedom, even made me feel more alive — a discovery which posed a new concept: If I became willing to allow my deepest fears to actually happen, how much more alive would I be? Just that little adjustment might open new doors in my mind, the only venue where I have some control! With the acceptance of the Botswana House Spider, I realized maybe my brain wants to heal from the past. Maybe I could turn my brain into my friend instead of this constant nagging, overprotective bearer of bad news.

In all three trips to Africa, there was always actual death. The mortality rate runs high. So do the joys of life. In Africa, both surround you at once: I saw a pulsating vivid night sky — I saw a dying star. I walked to school with cows — then one was slaughtered after a marriage agreement. I met wild animals — I saw one kill another for dinner. The son of a village member died, actually was stabbed by his girlfriend. The Village gathered seven nights to sing and pray and listen to stories, then they buried the son themselves in the village cemetery. The village handles it — not a morturary; no limos, no grim man in a suit. After we buried him, I rode with Brooks Kamanakao to another town to witness a marriage negotiation and celebrate with the families. Death and Life in the same weekend. Death is integrated…not procrastinated. I realize the recipe. I must open myself up more to Death in order to live more, to live in the biggest way I know how.

Back to today, Friday the 13, in the state of Guanajuato — I am here alone in the literal heart of Mexico where skulls abound, hearts abound and Death and Life are two sides of a coin. Death is hanging around, like that weird Uncle everyone has…enjoying the sunshine and smiles and “Buenos Dias” and weddings and hearts with wings and joyful mariachi music. Dia de los Muertos, well it’s every day. And every day I’m here, I’m gradually making peace with my original wounds, my fear of dying, but even greater —

My fear of living.

Friday, August 13th: Skeletons and skulls stare at me from every wall, every door, every corner, as a playful reminder. The skulls are no metaphor. I had no idea how real it was about to get.

The week began with a fall down a hill on wet cobblestones at the end of a rainstorm. It was a good ten minutes before I could move without wincing in pain.

That night, a warning arrived in the form of a big black beetle crawling up my arm (in my bed!) Looking up the symbolism of the black beetle didn’t exactly bring relief….

“The scarab beetle means your life is about to get difficult. Face your challenges, deal with what’s to come”*

And “What’s to Come” arrived the very next night in the bathroom: a white scorpion next to my foot. While the beetle wasn’t fatal, this clear-ish albino scorpion was, (claim the herb vendors at the mercado). And though it didn’t sting me, I looked into the meaning of a scorpion sighting:

“The human dance with death is not always clear-cut, but we could learn much from the Scorpion’s ritual. Death’s sting is never far away and always a possibility. In this sense, the Scorpion symbol represents being ready for anything and living fully each moment.”*

I feel myself closing down while arming up for Run or Die mode. My daughter called to tell me our dog Britta was in worse shape than we ever imagined. The fall she took wasn’t a sprain in her hind leg, but bone cancer that was destroying her body. When I left for Mexico, she had been limping and our fear was only about her leg and hips. Not this. Never this. I was asked if the vet should wait until I come home to put Britta down. Britta was trying to hide the pain from us. That’s just who she was. There was no possible way I could allow delay so I said goodbye to Britta from Mexico over Facetime. My daughter was now left with handling the details, and I was faced with the powerlessness of not being there. I realized, though it was a crisis, it was my daughter’s turn: her initiation into death. It’s no accident I was here and she was there.

I hadn’t felt this attached to a dog since I was six. Walking up and down cobblestoned hills, I was feeling lost. I didn’t want to close myself up as the pain of loss grew. With my head swimming, I caught an alert on my phone. A text from my friend Brooks Kamanakao in Botswana. The one who introduced me to the spider.

“I lost my wife this morning.”

KT left us, mother of three.

It just couldn’t be. KT is a 39 year old mother who works in the hospitality industry in Maun, Botswana. A kind friend who I hear from almost every week…this was her last message, five days ago:”

“Hello! We miss you here! When are you coming back!?”

My legs almost gave out. I had to dive into a hotel lobby to sit down. One of the richest hotels here, the Rosewood. Oh the irony. K.T. Kamanakao died of Covid. Why do the best souls leave us!? The faith KT practiced was solid and she was devout. People in Botswana responded to me, “It’s in God’s hands…”

I had misunderstood the warnings from those insects and arachnids. This was no metaphor. This was about real death. I sat in that lobby, afraid to rise. I couldn’t handle one more mocking grimace from a skull through a store window, or one more suffering Jesus in a church or gory depictions of the Afterlife...

The only book I brought on this trip is called SIGNS. I don’t need to read it at this point.

Signs or no signs, I lost my dog, I lost my friend. But the children of K.T. have lost their mother. I do know what that is like, but not in the same way. In order to process these deaths, I wrote a list of my fears — reasonable and unreasonable — the list came to exactly 100. I asked my mind to become willing to let my fears come to pass so I could be free of them. While here in Guanajuato, I realize now, my list of fears all boiled down to one Big Daddy: the Fear of Death. Which could be the fear of Life in disguise — because isn’t that the scarier thing?

Because living…means feeling!

No wonder the skulls are laughing at us! Death is the Joker that’s been faking us out! I’m afraid of Life, not Death! I knew the famous Death letter by Epicurus (Greek’s first hippie) and I believed him when he said “Dude, chill, you’re out of the moment and the moment’s all we got. We’re not supposed to care. We’re supposed to focus on how we live.

I took my list and I went through the 100 fears and became willing to allow each fear to come true. It got light in my mind. There was room to explore. And then came curious questions, a kind of gentle contemplation replaced fear mania.

First about death…

Then about Life and new possibilities

Like…

What if when I die, Goddess shows me how she’s kept a picture of me in her robe the whole time!? Or…What if I go ahead and make my own robe and add pictures of my departed loved ones?

What if when I die I see new colors, ones I’ve never imagined? Or…Why not create new colors now…or at least try?

What if my afterlife were one big Quincineira!? Or…Why not make my life one big Quincineira…now?

What if the scary “Void” is really a Void of hate…a void of rejection…of isolation, of loneliness, of despair? What if I can have that Void now and fill it with good things?

What if there’s no emotional pain after death and we get to heal our wounds and the wounds we caused? Or…Why not heal my wounds before I die?

What if I can see my two childhood dogs and Britta…and everyone else I lost? Or…can’t I just close my eyes now and see them? Why aren’t I ?

What if in the afterlife, hearts don’t break. They’re just pieces of art? And…What if when hearts break in this life, they break open?

What if in another dimensino there are fountains with rose petals? What if they’re right here?

Contemplative Curiosity has come in to take the place of fear and resistance. It has not removed a natural sorrow or righteous anger, but it has pointed me in a new direction. Everywhere I look, I see hearts. “Coeur” in French, the root of our word Courage. It have the courage to lead with my heart and stop hiding and protecting it — after all, that baby who lost her mother at birth is all grown up. The worst has happened — and it really wasn’t the worst. Though the mother child relationship died at my birth, I was spared much pain. And if I died tonight, I could say…

I got to hear the music of West Side Story.

I got to gaze at a night sky from the bottom of Africa.

I got to push out a baby, then another and I survive when I was sure I’d die.

I’ve faced the spider that I thought would kill me.

I’ve climbed over hundreds of miles over mud, dirt, sand, stone, cement and realized there is no destination.

I’ve seen elephants bathing and leopard’s sprinting.

I’ve talked with gurus and celebrities about nonsense and I’ve talked with gardeners and vendors and street dwellers about Life.

I’ve helped a few kids on this planet outside of my own.

I’ve worked hard, worked smart, worked stupid and not quit.

I’ve loved and been loved and I’ve lost and been lost.

I’ve failed, succeeded and neither mattered.

So what if I lost my mind?! I gained a better one and with that better one came a code for facing life and knowing that I’ll be alright.

It all comes down to how I lived.

I don’t feel afraid. Death today is my ally in facing Life.

We need Death.

We are united by Death.

After all, it’s the one event where…

We’re all in it together.

EPILOGUE

A Letter to Menoeceus by Epicurus, 300 B.C.E.

“Take the habit of thinking that death is nothing for us. For all good and evil lie in sensation: but death is deprivation of any sensitivity. Therefore, knowledge of the truth that death is nothing to us, enables us to enjoy this mortal life, not by adding the prospect of infinite duration, but by taking away the desire of the immortality. For there is nothing left to fear in life, who really understood that out of life there is nothing terrible. So pronounced empty words when it is argued that death is feared, not because it is painful being made, but because of the wait is painful. It would indeed be a futile and pointless fear than would be produced by the expectation of something that does not cause any trouble with his presence.

And that of all the evils that gives us more horror, death is nothing to us, since we exist as ourselves, death is not, and when death exists, we are not. So death is neither the living nor the dead, since it has nothing to do with the former and the latter are not. But the multitude sometimes flees death as the worst of evils, sometimes called as the term of the ills of life. The wise, however, does not ignore life and did not afraid of no longer living, for life he is not dependent, and it does not consider that there the lesser evil not to live.”

https://whatismyspiritanimal.com/spirit-totem-power-animal-meanings/insects/scorpion-symbolism-meaning/

@whitewolfe32