Apr 2018
I am hosting my own funeral today.
Everyone’s invited.
Come watch as I dance around the flames that turn the broken pieces of my being into ash and take a handful with you. Fling my dust to every corner of the earth with as much force as you can muster from hatred, or love, or both.
Listen to me sing my own eulogy through the tears of joy which stream down my checks as I raise both hands to the sky after chaining them to my sides for so long. Listen to the stories about the version of myself currently ablaze on the pyre before your eyes.
Listen to the ringing of the bells I’ve tied to my ankles so that I cannot hide within my movements, each step in-time with the music of the cosmos which sounds through the dark tree branches and echoes in the empty spaces I’ve created.
Feel free to tell your own stories about the dead, be them happy or sad. Don’t wait for me to finish because I’m not sure I’ll ever be done. Dance with me, throw yourself on the fire, let go of the dying pieces of yourself and watch them become ash, mixing with all the other until you don’t know what is you, and what is me, and what is no one.
I’m hosting my own birthday tomorrow.
No one is invited.
No one is allowed to watch as I wander down to the waves and walk slowly into the cold water, letting it wrap around the brand-new pieces of myself. My legs will be tired from dancing, my arms still lifted upwards trying to feel the wind weave between my fingers. I must be alone now, the pieces of me that were afraid of loneliness are being scattered by strangers to the corners of the world where my new body will never travel.
This is not a celebration to be witnessed. This is a homecoming for one. This is a rebirth without fear, and sadness, and pain. It may not stay that way for long but for now it is pure.
If it doesn’t last, keep your eye out for an invitation to a funeral.
Wear your dancing shoes.
Everyone’s invited.
Come watch as I dance around the flames that turn the broken pieces of my being into ash and take a handful with you. Fling my dust to every corner of the earth with as much force as you can muster from hatred, or love, or both.
Listen to me sing my own eulogy through the tears of joy which stream down my checks as I raise both hands to the sky after chaining them to my sides for so long. Listen to the stories about the version of myself currently ablaze on the pyre before your eyes.
Listen to the ringing of the bells I’ve tied to my ankles so that I cannot hide within my movements, each step in-time with the music of the cosmos which sounds through the dark tree branches and echoes in the empty spaces I’ve created.
Feel free to tell your own stories about the dead, be them happy or sad. Don’t wait for me to finish because I’m not sure I’ll ever be done. Dance with me, throw yourself on the fire, let go of the dying pieces of yourself and watch them become ash, mixing with all the other until you don’t know what is you, and what is me, and what is no one.
I’m hosting my own birthday tomorrow.
No one is invited.
No one is allowed to watch as I wander down to the waves and walk slowly into the cold water, letting it wrap around the brand-new pieces of myself. My legs will be tired from dancing, my arms still lifted upwards trying to feel the wind weave between my fingers. I must be alone now, the pieces of me that were afraid of loneliness are being scattered by strangers to the corners of the world where my new body will never travel.
This is not a celebration to be witnessed. This is a homecoming for one. This is a rebirth without fear, and sadness, and pain. It may not stay that way for long but for now it is pure.
If it doesn’t last, keep your eye out for an invitation to a funeral.
Wear your dancing shoes.
