July/August 2023 Alchemical Voice

Alchemical Voice - L2M - Issue 21
I MET DEATH ON A
SUNDAY
Hannah Gauss
I have met death in many disguises, but never the same way
twice. The last time was on 5th March at eight-thirty pm.
Death came quietly, and with more love than I ever felt in my
entire life.
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On this Sunday, I held my grandmother’s hand, walking
alongside her to the final point of her existence. A space
stretched with expectation and reminiscing stories. Her time
had come, and I was her Deathwalker. Death patiently stood
waiting in the corner. A sombre presence that had only one
irreversible purpose.
When Death finally stepped forward, the veil separating our
world and the unseen slit open, and time was still. Through it,
love spilled into the room, and into every cell, every bone and
dark place of the mind.
Here we were, at the edge of our physical existence, looking
into the next.
Death was many; a sea of light beings and known faces from
old family photos. Everyone was excited to welcome her
Spirit. There was no judgement, no hellfire, only this deep
love. The kind that accepts us in whatever state we are in and
many look for their entire lives.
It seemed Death never comes as expected. It was not a
despair-filled void missing an exit sign. Instead, Death was the
sacred gatekeeper of the final journey back to our origin.
My grandmother had this keen awareness of her own
mortality. She never held onto anything that was not meant
to be, carried no regrets for the things that were not going so
well, and never feared her own ending. As a matter of fact,
she counted on it. Underlying this attitude was a sense of
understanding that our existence is based on the cycle of
ending and beginning.
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