“Live for your eulogy, not your resume.” ~ says the man who leads his life with life
Over 40 people in the room spoke. Laughing, crying, laughing and crying. Smiling in remembrance. Tears streaking in knowledge of never-agains. Beautiful. And finally one man said, “She was weird in a good way.”
We all agreed. She was, indeed, weird in a good way.
She wore the colors no one dared just to go to the grocery store.
She spoke her vulnerabilities as though she were talking about the weather.
She never questioned that she would always dance.
She walked the path of normality until she had the courage to change.
She opened herself to the possibilities of inner truth, following an intense spiritual path others could not understand.
She raised two girls, strong and knowing of their own magic.
She knew her own magic.
She embodied her sexuality, even when her body was broken.
She held the space of divinity in her own soul.
She stood in her power even when she was too weak to sit up.
She disallowed the overbearing fear of others to chain her to decisions she did not want.
She viewed the world as she viewed herself-beautifully in process.
She tried and failed.
She tried and overcame.
She accepted and let go.
She carried her life as though it were the most valuable thing she owned.
She carried her death the same way.
We do not often share in death. We fear something so uncontrollable in a world intensely focused on the ability to control. My friend Alluvia took her death process as deeply as her life process. And through the struggle of dying, resurrecting, beholding elation, embodying anger, knowing acceptance, and finally letting go, she shared it all. Processing for herself, and as one man said last night, teaching the community how death can be and often is in more connected communities-scouting into the horizon of terra incognita and returning with traveler tales. We were all grateful.
In the end, after all of the heartfelt thoughts, we danced her into a sendoff around a fire under the full moon knowing she had changed us all profoundly. Knowing she had taught us it was our highest good to truly be ourselves even though it was the hardest.
Knowing we all strive to be weird in a good way.
Do you live for your resume or your eulogy?