Life. Death. Life.

To be intimately connected to life requires an intimate connection to and recognition of death. In the very literal sense, we all will die one day, returning our bodies to the soil and giving rise to new life. But also not so literally - through the cycles of our life and relationships, we experience death all the time.

What is death, other than an opportunity to bring forth new life? The food you eat that fills you with life energy. The dead mouse in the forest, becoming food for the worms and enriching the soil, sustaining the trees that cleanse our air and give us oxygen to breathe… it is all intimately connected.

Death of a relationship, or death within a relationship ALWAYS presents an opportunity to grow and to cultivate a new reality - one that is vibrant and full of life.

As I grow older, I am recognizing shifts in the way I relate to my parents. I am no longer a child, dependent on them for survival, or looking to them for every answer. Our relationship is evolving… I don’t NEED them anymore. The old patterns of our relationship are dying, and there is magic in that.

A beautiful opportunity to breathe new life into our connection & create a new way of existing with each other.

As an adult, I am looking at my upbringing from a new lens, with compassion and so much appreciation for my parents providing me with the best life they could. Carrying with me all that I love, and leaving some behind. Gaining wisdom and experiences of my own, bringing that forth into my own life and also into theirs.

They will always be my parents, and I will always be their child. The unconditional love will always remain. But we can learn to exist in a way that resembles friendship - taking care of and nurturing each other, sharing our wisdom, and growing together.

There is fear in allowing the old ways to die. Is this the end? Am I losing my parents? Am I losing their love? No. It’s not the end. But we must look death in the eye if we wish to nourish the soil and plant the seed for new life to grow.

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Walking into Womanhood

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Two Imperfect Halves