I just can't go out anymore.

I'm too used to being here on the farm & a child of nature and my sensibilities get totally shocked if I am out & about much.

Yesterday it was a funeral that called for us all to go. A much beloved uncle of my husband. And it was ok. Not totally cool and neat like my recently passed Hindu friend who spoke at his own memorial service but pretty straight forward traditional Christian Appalachian.

It was at the house of the aunt afterward that I got totally shocked. I guess I'd let my guard down and before I knew it I'd been knocked nauseous.

The first was a good friend of the family taking the opportunity to ask the funeral director a question. That's a sensible thing to do, trying to be prepared. She said her husband had expressed that when he died he wanted a plain pine box and was such a thing available. The funeral director actually said no which is a lie. Everything else he said in explanation of that was pretty truthful (cemeteries require this & that, etc.) but if the man wants a pine box he could have one. The funeral director just couldn't make much money on that choice and so wouldn’t explore it with her.

Why might I know something about end of life decisions? Well, it isn't because I have always thought it would be fascinating to be a funeral director, which I have. It is because I ran in to the work of Lisa Carlson and the idea of caring for our own dead appealed to us. If you have any interest in living (and dying) consciously, you should really read about the rip-offs awaiting you when you are dead.

OK, so I got through that one by running out of the room. But about that time a beautiful little baby woke up. I have 4 kids so obviously I like kids and this little girl was cooing and laughing at me. Then her mother proudly announced that tonight she was going to get corn syrup in her formula for the first time. She's barely 4 months old for the Gods' sakes -- she shouldn't have anything except her mother's breast milk! I went green again.

I am not a holy of holies type but what the hell are people thinking stuffing fried Twinkies down babies throats and refusing a dying wish of a plain pine box? No wonder people in between birth and death are sososo messed up. Drugged from one end to the other and never entirely conscious.

I am so glad to be back in the sanctuary of the farm, under the care of the animals, the plants, the creeks, the rocks, the spirits & sprites here. Consciousness. It is the dream that is real.