When I met Kimchi, in spring 2016, I knew she had cancer; I believe I’d seen a notice in the Earthaven newsletter that she was fundraising for holistic treatment her insurance didn’t cover. But that first time I saw her traipsing up the path to Medicine Wheel, aglow in shades of teal and turquoise (and, in my memory, accompanied by the tinkle of tiny cowbells), her illness seemed like a distant threat she could easily beat. It, not she, would pass.
I left Earthaven on the summer solstice, then returned for another visit towards the end of August. At a potluck the night before my departure, I found myself at a packed table, a few seats away from Kimchi. I was engaged in a different conversation when I heard her mention death: She said she felt called to another assignment, somewhere else, and that she was eager to embark on it, whatever it might be.
In my mind’s eye I saw a midnight blue sky, stippled with stars – the galaxy of possibility on which she was drawing back the curtain. Maybe her mission would take her to another planet, or to a place beyond “planet” I could not yet imagine. Maybe, if there was a new form waiting for her soul, there was also one waiting for mine.
What if we humans accepted death? What if we embraced it? What if we anticipated it as a marvelous transition, an induction into – or chance to revisit – a sublime mystery? How would that change life on Earth?
The first change that comes to mind is one that affects me immediately, and relates to how I relate to Kimchi.
I suspect that if she dreaded death, I’d feel the need to tiptoe in her presence, or stay out of it. I’d feel mute, and paralyzed. I’d keep my distance, for fear of doing something wrong.
I don’t claim that I’m entirely free of those feelings, or that they’re a complete waste; heightened sensitivity can be useful, in context of another’s pain. The tiptoeing creeps in – along with fear, muteness, and paralysis – when there’s a sense that what’s coming, or happening, is too scary to be faced.
Embracing death, Kimchi embraces her fellowbeings. Pulls us closer. Tightens the weave of the web we all share.
Helen Zuman