As always, your words are my company on these Sunday mornings when they come through. Somehow, they visit me as though they have been sitting in on my ponderings, in what I am listening to, in the book that I am reading and in the very conversations I am having with myself. This illusion of separateness that I yearn to talk about is often one I hold myself back from. Not having practiced the words for it, and being wary of others where they are not practiced in hearing them, is a bit of a threshold for me. You are good company, Chloe. Thank you, again and again, for making me feel at home.
I suspect there’s hundreds of us, each entertaining these pondering, each imagining we do so alone, but of course there’s no such thing as alone. We share everything, at some level. The thoughts and images drifting into my mind way well have drifted down towards, or upwards from, the South Atlantic Ocean on some cosmic current. Either way, it’s good to know that we’re holding some of the same things. You’re good company, too, Tonia :)
“Living beings do not become organic matter at Death; they simply become undeniably so.”
That line. I had to reread it a few times. It feels like a door opening onto something both obvious and completely radical. Undeniably so. As if death is not an erasure but a revealing. The final honesty.
It makes me think about how much of life is spent trying to be something slightly edited, slightly more acceptable, slightly less messy. And then at the end, there’s no performance left. Just matter returning, participation completing itself.
I don’t know, it’s strangely comforting. Like the world isn’t keeping score, it’s just… receiving.
We would all be better off if we paused now and then to remember "memento mori." Remember that you must die," as the philosophers remind us. Rather than run from the thought of our inevitable death, we should quietly remind ourselves of it now and then. It grounds and humbles me to think on that.
Utterly relatable, despite the fact I never got to have such an class on forensics. (I very nearly did study forensic science at university, though. How I wonder what path would have opened before me had I signed up.)
My own spring was likely late, not truly realising I didn't have to "not be me" until I was sometime in my mid to late twenties. There's perhaps even more an element of this being heightened in Britain, or at least that was my experience growing up.
Anyway, I ramble.
Your piece was stunning and mesmerising and full of beautiful words that ring true and powerful.
I like to imagine that there’s a branch of the multiverse in which you & I didn’t meet on Substack but met, instead, in a forensics class. It’s quite the revelation when it lands that we could, potentially, just be who we are, after all. Better late than never. I'm awfully glad that are you are you, Nate!
Beautifully said, Chloe. “to arrive, to belong, and to one day be reclaimed.” To resist or deny our participation (great word) is to miss out on so much wonder. I admire your gift of celebrating the shimmering spirit by adoring the material world.
I’ve been having some difficulty sleeping lately and have been turning to the St Francis prayer to stave off the dread in the small hours, and I always think of you. Very grateful to have been reacquainted with it and to have a new relationship with it 🙏
I finished reading in the pre-dawn darkness of morning. (Yeah, I know, wait till morning light, I hear you telling me). My eyes close once again to find sleep, but my now active mind denies me. So moved by D&B—the song sparrow, the rabbit’s ears, and the grace of being alive. Instead, I listen contently to the slow rhythmic breathing that fills the silence: Paul’s, Ranger’s, and my own. Within my safe haven, I realize my own fear of death since childhood, has mistakenly been larger than life. Passed down over the generations like an ugly family heirloom I am made to wear. I wish they had taught me never to fear Death; it is simply the path we walk alongside life, the only true promise of birth.
I am so very grateful for my continuing education. The fear is slowly shrinking…slowly…♥️
Well, you can see me after class for reading while it was still dark, but…as you well know, your gentle untangling is now part of my life’s work. And slow is perfect ♥️ much like you three, breathing sleepily, in unison.
Chloe, your posts always touch something deep in my soul. You give so much reverence and beauty to death, honoring it with as much care and dignity as any other part of life. Your witnessing described as being “awed by the artful resolution of a being no longer ensouled” was beauty.
Yes, Chloe, exactly and beyond exactly so. For dysfunctional religious reasons I don’t ever remember fearing death, and once I was freed from the other fears that that tradition instilled in me I began to go beyond not-fear to look at death as a friend, one who will accompany me across what we call the final threshold. The beauty of this world, this life…my increasing wonder and awe of the privilege of living is in itself the greatest privilege of my life.
A week ago today, my cousin's three year old son died in a terrible accident. One of my first thoughts was that those parents need to read Death and Birds. Such a sudden and tragic death is a devastatingly disorienting blow, so I'm waiting for their world to spin at a little less chaotic and excruciating pace before sending them your way, but I just want you to know, as I know I've told you before but I've appreciated it even more this week, how grateful I am for the perspective you offer. I used to think we humans were a sum of opposites; happy and sad, good and bad, rich and poor, strong and weak. We're far messier, and far more beautiful, than that. We're full of opposing forces that are simultaneously interdependent. Grief and love are like flint and steel. Strike them together and we get fire; brilliant, dangerous, and beautiful. Understanding what you talk about here and in all your other posts allows for that beauty, so thank you, thank you, thank you 💚
Oh, dearest Hannah. My heart aches so deeply for your cousin, and for you. I am so very sorry. I’m grateful and heartened to know that what you’ve found here, over the years, has offered you something to lean on. We are so terribly messy, and so terribly beautiful. I’m relieved to know that your cousin has you and your particular light in their sphere, while they navigate such intense terrain. They’ll be in my prayers. Much love to you, my friend.
Thank you so much, Chloe! Prayers are needed and appreciated. I feel like experiences like this make people sacred, and I'm in awe of those that endure them.
Dear Chloe, as always - such a tender and lovingly composed piece of writing. I wholeheartedly believe that to truly see someone, to hear them in that moment, is to love them in their wholeness, or, to love them to wholeness. It is to honor them as they are. That is the grace, which I know you too believe, humans need to give to one another, as well as to all forms of 'other'. And when we don't receive this as children, or adults, we can learn to give this to ourselves – and ironically the healing is profound when we then give this to others. When I read your writings on death and birds, on life and every sacred moment, I feel the sanctity in honoring death, as I do in honoring life. They truly are born from the same mother, which reminds me – I recently found the poet Wallace Stevens, born in 1879; he writes "Death is the mother of beauty."
Andrea, I am grateful for you and I am touched by what you’ve shared. Thank you for the introduction to Wallace Stevens! And for your sharing your own beautiful words. It’s a privilege to honour our aliveness together.
“I found myself in the familiar scenario of scanning a room to gather a consensus of facial expressions so that I might adopt an appropriate one.“
Ahhh. I imagine every reader can relate to this… some consciously, others somewhere deep below the surface of conscious awareness. I sure can. Nowadays I scan the room and attempt to allow my contrarian nature to show just enough to leave a breadcrumb of possibility.
As I read, I recalled the clip you shared of nurse Amy at hospice. So good. I watched the show and then shared it many times. There is so much to be learned from Amy.
As always, your words are my company on these Sunday mornings when they come through. Somehow, they visit me as though they have been sitting in on my ponderings, in what I am listening to, in the book that I am reading and in the very conversations I am having with myself. This illusion of separateness that I yearn to talk about is often one I hold myself back from. Not having practiced the words for it, and being wary of others where they are not practiced in hearing them, is a bit of a threshold for me. You are good company, Chloe. Thank you, again and again, for making me feel at home.
I suspect there’s hundreds of us, each entertaining these pondering, each imagining we do so alone, but of course there’s no such thing as alone. We share everything, at some level. The thoughts and images drifting into my mind way well have drifted down towards, or upwards from, the South Atlantic Ocean on some cosmic current. Either way, it’s good to know that we’re holding some of the same things. You’re good company, too, Tonia :)
Such a beautiful reply. I too relish in the warmth I feel when reading Chloe's writings. These words hold a sanctity about them.
Yes🙏💕
“Living beings do not become organic matter at Death; they simply become undeniably so.”
That line. I had to reread it a few times. It feels like a door opening onto something both obvious and completely radical. Undeniably so. As if death is not an erasure but a revealing. The final honesty.
It makes me think about how much of life is spent trying to be something slightly edited, slightly more acceptable, slightly less messy. And then at the end, there’s no performance left. Just matter returning, participation completing itself.
I don’t know, it’s strangely comforting. Like the world isn’t keeping score, it’s just… receiving.
We would all be better off if we paused now and then to remember "memento mori." Remember that you must die," as the philosophers remind us. Rather than run from the thought of our inevitable death, we should quietly remind ourselves of it now and then. It grounds and humbles me to think on that.
Loved reading this ~ "it's just receiving", undeniably.
I’m glad to know you found it comforting, Alexander. No score necessary :)
Made from stardust that will soon be soil that will perhaps sprout crocuses in spring, to the music of a song thrush 🤍
One can only hope!
Utterly relatable, despite the fact I never got to have such an class on forensics. (I very nearly did study forensic science at university, though. How I wonder what path would have opened before me had I signed up.)
My own spring was likely late, not truly realising I didn't have to "not be me" until I was sometime in my mid to late twenties. There's perhaps even more an element of this being heightened in Britain, or at least that was my experience growing up.
Anyway, I ramble.
Your piece was stunning and mesmerising and full of beautiful words that ring true and powerful.
I like to imagine that there’s a branch of the multiverse in which you & I didn’t meet on Substack but met, instead, in a forensics class. It’s quite the revelation when it lands that we could, potentially, just be who we are, after all. Better late than never. I'm awfully glad that are you are you, Nate!
That is a delightful multiverse to imagine! 🤗
Beautifully said, Chloe. “to arrive, to belong, and to one day be reclaimed.” To resist or deny our participation (great word) is to miss out on so much wonder. I admire your gift of celebrating the shimmering spirit by adoring the material world.
Thanks so much, Julie. More and more they seem to be one and the same thing. Just different densities :)
🙌 yea
I’ve been having some difficulty sleeping lately and have been turning to the St Francis prayer to stave off the dread in the small hours, and I always think of you. Very grateful to have been reacquainted with it and to have a new relationship with it 🙏
Oh that’s lovely! It warms my heart to hear it. Fun to see you on our Live today. 💚
I was sad to join so close to the end! Such a lovely energy between you three. I fully support them being weekly…someday!💜
Would be fun, yeah. If only I had Hermione Grainger’s time-turner.
exquisite... "I would never ask a Bird or someone who was dying to be anything other than what they are in that moment, nor would they ask it of me."
Thank you, Greer :)
I finished reading in the pre-dawn darkness of morning. (Yeah, I know, wait till morning light, I hear you telling me). My eyes close once again to find sleep, but my now active mind denies me. So moved by D&B—the song sparrow, the rabbit’s ears, and the grace of being alive. Instead, I listen contently to the slow rhythmic breathing that fills the silence: Paul’s, Ranger’s, and my own. Within my safe haven, I realize my own fear of death since childhood, has mistakenly been larger than life. Passed down over the generations like an ugly family heirloom I am made to wear. I wish they had taught me never to fear Death; it is simply the path we walk alongside life, the only true promise of birth.
I am so very grateful for my continuing education. The fear is slowly shrinking…slowly…♥️
Well, you can see me after class for reading while it was still dark, but…as you well know, your gentle untangling is now part of my life’s work. And slow is perfect ♥️ much like you three, breathing sleepily, in unison.
I always get the best exhales after reading your words. What a good feeling to have.
So, so glad that they offer a good old exhale, dear Alix :)
same same
❤️
Chloe, your posts always touch something deep in my soul. You give so much reverence and beauty to death, honoring it with as much care and dignity as any other part of life. Your witnessing described as being “awed by the artful resolution of a being no longer ensouled” was beauty.
Thank you, Sabrina. There is so much to revere :)
Thank you for this lovely piece! We shed into our feather duster is my constant reminder and spread ourselves as we should. ;-)
A fantastic reminder!! :)
Yes, Chloe, exactly and beyond exactly so. For dysfunctional religious reasons I don’t ever remember fearing death, and once I was freed from the other fears that that tradition instilled in me I began to go beyond not-fear to look at death as a friend, one who will accompany me across what we call the final threshold. The beauty of this world, this life…my increasing wonder and awe of the privilege of living is in itself the greatest privilege of my life.
I cheer your increasing wonder and awe, Robert! And your greeting death as friend. May we all come to know him as such.
What a wonderful meditation, Chloe. Thanks!
Thank you, friend
A week ago today, my cousin's three year old son died in a terrible accident. One of my first thoughts was that those parents need to read Death and Birds. Such a sudden and tragic death is a devastatingly disorienting blow, so I'm waiting for their world to spin at a little less chaotic and excruciating pace before sending them your way, but I just want you to know, as I know I've told you before but I've appreciated it even more this week, how grateful I am for the perspective you offer. I used to think we humans were a sum of opposites; happy and sad, good and bad, rich and poor, strong and weak. We're far messier, and far more beautiful, than that. We're full of opposing forces that are simultaneously interdependent. Grief and love are like flint and steel. Strike them together and we get fire; brilliant, dangerous, and beautiful. Understanding what you talk about here and in all your other posts allows for that beauty, so thank you, thank you, thank you 💚
Oh, dearest Hannah. My heart aches so deeply for your cousin, and for you. I am so very sorry. I’m grateful and heartened to know that what you’ve found here, over the years, has offered you something to lean on. We are so terribly messy, and so terribly beautiful. I’m relieved to know that your cousin has you and your particular light in their sphere, while they navigate such intense terrain. They’ll be in my prayers. Much love to you, my friend.
Thank you so much, Chloe! Prayers are needed and appreciated. I feel like experiences like this make people sacred, and I'm in awe of those that endure them.
Dear Chloe, as always - such a tender and lovingly composed piece of writing. I wholeheartedly believe that to truly see someone, to hear them in that moment, is to love them in their wholeness, or, to love them to wholeness. It is to honor them as they are. That is the grace, which I know you too believe, humans need to give to one another, as well as to all forms of 'other'. And when we don't receive this as children, or adults, we can learn to give this to ourselves – and ironically the healing is profound when we then give this to others. When I read your writings on death and birds, on life and every sacred moment, I feel the sanctity in honoring death, as I do in honoring life. They truly are born from the same mother, which reminds me – I recently found the poet Wallace Stevens, born in 1879; he writes "Death is the mother of beauty."
Andrea, I am grateful for you and I am touched by what you’ve shared. Thank you for the introduction to Wallace Stevens! And for your sharing your own beautiful words. It’s a privilege to honour our aliveness together.
“I found myself in the familiar scenario of scanning a room to gather a consensus of facial expressions so that I might adopt an appropriate one.“
Ahhh. I imagine every reader can relate to this… some consciously, others somewhere deep below the surface of conscious awareness. I sure can. Nowadays I scan the room and attempt to allow my contrarian nature to show just enough to leave a breadcrumb of possibility.
As I read, I recalled the clip you shared of nurse Amy at hospice. So good. I watched the show and then shared it many times. There is so much to be learned from Amy.
I fully support the allowing of your contrarian nature! And Amy… Gosh I love her so very much. We all need an Amy.
You discuss our death with great sensitivity and reality, a subject that is mainly taboo.
Thank you, Lionheart!