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The Art of Dying


Delicious, the trees, with their orange and red leaves, crimson and gold treasures in the fading afternoon light. I want them to wear these hues forever. But their temporary charm makes me sigh like a school girl with a crush. Nature is so lush, dying a gorgeous, colorful death. What a tease with her leaves, letting them fall like a lover disrobing one article of clothing at a time. This is art in its highest form, dancing with the wind until naked and cold. And then the darkness takes hold. Winter teaches us to be patient, to wait until the colors return and the sun burns our skin. There is a method to this madness. This is a game to win. Let go, she whispers, release and detach, shed your skin, lose your leaves, go within, and meditate on the meaning of life. The change is upon us, it comes every year, and still we fear and resist. But nature insists, go inside and light a candle until you have learned why you are even here on this earth where your ancestors are buried, where you sleepwalk even on summer days. Today, November 1st, the Celtic new year, the beginning of the end, as the days grow darker, and the spirits are invited to the candlelit table where we feast on apples and spice, today is the day we learn the art of dying is a beautiful thing, because we know we will begin again, and again, and again. Enjoy the mystery while it lasts. Seek the answers of your past. Honor the departed and raise a glass. Let the bonfires shine in the night.




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