Because I’m with death these days, this process I see as transformation, warp and weft, tangling and untangling, I feel the words of Carl Perkins roll through me.
If it weren’t for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song.
With death, we become the stream, allowing others a more vibrant and fragrant place as they fill in where we were as we liquify and aerate, dissolve and reform.
When you love, you complete a circle. When you die, the circle remains.