Death is rebirth when what is destroyed is not our bodies or souls, but rather the fictions and frameworks in which we may become trapped or enmeshed. Our fear of death is ironic; most of it is actually the fear of being born, of coming to life, of stepping out of a history of narratives, fictions, harms held dearer than gifts, and habits.

Most of what we are actually afraid of is not death at all, and in this fear we invent horrible new forms of abuse, war, lying, intoxication and cultural fragmentation. Factioning. Frictions. For fictions.

But we can remember the ways of childhood, rich with the opportunity to divest ourselves of names, fictions and formalities of identity or relation. We can discover the wings hidden with this fear… and those wings become true relation and intelligence… wherever we shall be bold enough to free and test them.

With and for each other.