To Death and New Beginnings
A few years ago, definitely pre-pandemic, I found myself writing on my phone’s Notes app, as I tend to do when I can’t contain an idea in my slippery mind for too long: blackorchid.love. Leaving it there and ignoring it for the next 5+ years became it’s destiny, but coming across the note again earlier this week after withstanding the worst ending to a year a person can endure, the latter half of this 5+ year old idea finished formulating. Why not write about Death? This last season has certainly seen enough of it. Why not write of new Beginnings? The dusk and chaser after an unfavorably-tasting ending of an era. It’s been messy and unsuspecting, not at all what I pictured Death to be. And I’ve certainly over consumed my share of “death” paraphernalia through media since early teenage-hood, donning on the costume of someone who understands. Speaking of it as if I knew anything about strict absolutes.
Yesterday at dusk, we laid Baby Bean to rest inside an ale-colored wooden box. 6 weeks old, Baby Bean preceded Death and then followed it, as only 6 weeks ago, my brother had also passed on. My brother was/is 31, and his passing was sudden, chaotic, or was it peaceful? Who am I to define and speculate what he felt during his final moments. Maybe it was the most peaceful damn moment of his life. Maybe it was the complete opposite.
And I’m not ok, nor will I ever be. And now it’s New Year’s Eve, 2 hours before we welcome 2024. 2 hours before we leave my brother’s final chapter. Before we leave Baby Bean’s conception year. And I miss him, and his ash box is staring at me from the corner of an empty living room, his eyes watching my every move. Unlike him, I’m not bold, nor adventurous, I read about epics and journeys from books and magazine cuttings. I’m not him. Perpetual sailor. This year’s ending is shit.
I think I’ll write about his death, his life, I’ll write about general Life and Death. Maybe this isn’t a strict absolute, but energy changing form again. Even if that feels like bullshit as I type it. I might not be bold, but goddamn all I am are hopes and dreams so that childish notion might as well fuel me forward now. I awoke to an acceptance email from The Ace of Cups School of Mystical and Medicinal Herbal and Botanical School. I need New Orleans storytelling, plant magic, soul-nourishing food, bold art. All I have is family, love, and what is in front of me.