I’m in the forest of many deaths again,
some are small deaths,
others too large for me to wrap my arms even half way around.
These lands stretch on forever,
of course.
The woods are full of wandering souls.
I sometimes think I’m too comfortable here,
but I have to visit from time to time,
to honor these passings.
Most people don’t know what they’re looking for,
they’re drawn to a passing, one that must be seen and held deeply,
a place to lay flowers, forage for memories, and maybe weep.
I’ve been called here to visit many times
to bow and pray,
to watch from a distance,
to tend closely others as people face their own deaths,
and to walk in grief,
to learn to be unafraid of it,
letting it wrap around my legs
rooting me in place for now.
I pass worn dirt spots where I curled for months, even years,
the memory of me is there still, imprinted, with no regrets.
I’ve learned how important this forest is,
for all of us.
It’s an in-between place,
one that makes living possible
and loving vital.
Funny that its never unfamiliar
even to those who are visiting for the first time,
we all know this place harvests its due.
If you find yourself here unexpectedly
don’t forget to make an offering,
tears will do,
or even a song,
poems are especially welcome.
