“Until we choose death, we cannot choose life.” ~ James Hillman
Are you willing to allow the small deaths in your life to create more life?
What if, by holding on to what is no longer truly alive, we are creating more suffering and leaving less room for life?
Fall reminds us of the beauty of letting go. The trees release their leaves, preparing us for winter, for stillness, silence, and death. Nature shows us that there is wisdom in surrendering to what is ending rather than trying to keep it alive.
When we trust the natural cycles of life and learn to be in relationship with death, we can discover love as a companion through the grief. Yet we live in a culture that denies and fears death, often keeping us disconnected from the full depth and richness of being alive.
For me, developing a more intimate relationship with death has opened me to a deeper understanding of how I want to dedicate my life force. It has also taught me to soften, receive, and trust life to support me in ways I could never have imagined.
Last year, my mom transitioned out of this world and into the spirit realm, becoming one of my ancestors. It has been one of the hardest losses of my life, and it also opened the door to the most profound ceremony I have ever experienced, on the New Moon last November.
Before she died, my mom gave me permission to bathe, anoint, and shroud her body. I was able to honor her full human experience of life and death in this deeply intimate way. I will be forever grateful for the gift of being able to care for her in this final passage. It has been part of the sacred reorganization of my whole life, learning to live in a world where she is no longer physically here.
I gave myself space to deepen my apprenticeship with grief, and yet I also felt the need to keep going so I wouldn't get swallowed by the sorrow of losing her. Continuing to hold our Full and New Moon circles helped keep me afloat as my very being began to reorganize and reorient itself.
And yet, something in me has begun to recognize that circle has also been a beautiful distraction from feeling the full gravity of this loss.
The land is always preparing me for what is coming.
After the Fall Equinox, my dad installed a new front door on our house, replacing the one that had been there for as long as I can remember—if not longer than I have been alive. The timing felt deeply symbolic as I began to feel the call to the underworld, much like Inanna in her mythic descent. I sensed that my heart was ready to walk through a new door, with my community supporting me in a different way.
And as much as it breaks my heart, I am finding the courage to honor this call and pause holding our Wildflower Circles.
I don't yet know how long this pause will last or what it will look like. I only know that the cycles of nature are inviting me to make space for the death of the daughter I have been and to continue discovering a new relationship with my mom.
I need to let myself be in this threshold rather than rush through it, fill it, or turn it into something meaningful before I have fully lived it.
Please know that I deeply love each of you and am so grateful for the love, presence, and support you have brought into our circle. What we have created together matters to me more than words can express. This pause doesn't diminish any of it.
I have been thinking it would be beautiful to continue gathering in other ways when the time feels right. I'll share information about any Wildflower gatherings as they arise, without asking myself to know the whole path ahead of time.
For now, I am listening to what is ending, making room for what needs to be felt, and trusting that life continues to move through even our most tender seasons.
May the wings of grief and gratitude stretch us far and wide.
With love, warmth, and devotion,
Jenny
