We keep on burying our dead
We keep on planting their bones in the ground
But they won't grow
The sun doesn't help
The rain doesn't help
I’ve come to realize that I want a pagan based funeral/death… but I also realize that I have no clue how my mom and family will feel about that, about me not having a catholic funeral. I know that what my family wants can over rule what I want in my will once I’m dead. Which is why I’d have to come to terms with them about what I want before I die, but it’s a conversation I’m dreading to have. In the past year and a half, I have come out of the gay closet and the pagan closets to my mom, which is the person that deserves to know most… Or maybe she’s just the person that I know would care most. And I’m still unsure about how she feels about all of it. I know she doesn’t understand what being pagan means. I keep wanting to bring her to brunch, but I still haven’t yet. It just a weird subject to talk about with my mom, when she knows almost nothing about. And talking about my death, would just keep adding to the whole “weird-ness”… how different I’ve become in the last year.
By being pagan, I’m not rejecting Christianity, I’m simply accepting that it’s not the path for me. I’ve actually come to accept it and understand it a lot better now that I’m not forced to follow it.
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
- Mary Elizabeth Frye
http://books.google.ca/books?q=history+of+death&btnG=Search+Books&uid=
http://books.google.ca/books?uid=16772259769886678744
http://www.cemeterygroup.org/media/paganpersp.pdf
http://www.ecauldron.net/funeral1.php
http://www.ecauldron.net/funeral2.php
http://www.gn.apc.org/news/india-pioneers-webcast-cremation
http://www.pagan-transitions.org.uk/
I started thinking about why I’ve never wanted to write my will before. I know I’m only 18 but most of my friends already have one, already know what they want, or have already considered that they should have a will.
I don’t want to be a burden to my family and friends in death, and I don’t want to cause them pain by willingly dying. But having a will, might be one less thing holding me here alive in the physical plane.
My homework for class this week is to make a list of 20 words, either in french or in english, related to death.
Necro
Cadaver
Reincarnation
Suicide
Mortal
Autopsy
Murder
Lifeless
Morgue
Pseudocide
Corpse
Carcass
Euthanasia
Funeral
Grim Reaper
Decompose
Fatal
Plague
Lethal
Crucify
Grave
Tomb Stone
Deceased
Kill
Burial
R.I.P.
Die
Drown
Execution
Ghost
Entombment
Last Rites
Crypt
Sacrifice
Decay
Will
Catacomb
Necropolis
Mausoleum
okay, So I came up with more than 20…
Gabrielle Suzanne Jacqueline Latreille
Franco-Ontrarienne
Pagan
Lesbian
Female
Youth
Aboriginal Descendant
Sister
Daughter
Lover
Friend
…and the list goes on
I’m writing this blog as a journal for my thanatology class. I’m not really sure why I chose to take that class, but it intrigued me as soon as I came across it.
From what I understood, we’ll be studying death on many levels. What is death? When is someone considered dead? Euthanasia, suicide, abortion, death sentence, death in different cultures… and so on. From the first class I could tell it was going to be really intense. But I’m really looking forward to it. I’d talked to a few of my friends about the class before it started, they said it seemed interesting. It was funny to find out that a lot of people I know, know my teacher, might even run into her at fest. I have a feeling, although this class will demand a lot of work, that I’ll like it.
For the final we need to prepare for our own death. I heard a few comments from other people in the class, some of them didn’t really like the idea of it. Most of us are around the age of 20, I guess it’s not a subject people want to think about this early in life.
In my opinion, I think it’ll give me the opportunity to learn more about myself and paganism. The 4 classes I’ve take/am taking were wiccan based and elemental. I love what I’ve learned, but death is one thing I don’t know that much about.
I consider myself pagan, but I don’t have a specific path. At first wiccan was the most obvious and easiest to follow, but the more I learn, the more I feel like that’s not for me. Learning about death in different cultures and religions might help me find a more specific path. But for now, I remain happy label-less.
I hope I’m still as enthused about this class at the end of the term as I am now.
William Cullen Bryant. 1794–1878
TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images 10
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around— 15
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 20
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good, 35
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move 40
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun, 45
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings 50
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first 55
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 60
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 65
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man— 70
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 75
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 80
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
