Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Fear of Death

Typically, February's a challenging month. Standing on the cusp of Spring my reign as Winter's whore, hag and mistress is beginning to end. As Darkness cracks and Light begins to filter through I straddle the threshold of transformation. After Bride's Day I'm the Old Woman and the Young Maiden; youth taking from age, and age fighting against youth. It's an emotionally tumultuous time marked by tears, frustration, rebellion, grief and sacrifice.

February's a time when hormones rage; there's resistance and submission. The Old Woman's reluctant to give up Her hold ("BUT I LIKE WEARING FUCKING JEANS AND BAGGY ASS T-SHIRTS AND I DON'T WANT TO WEAR MAKE-UP OR GO OUTSIDE..."), the Bride, as strong as seeds pushing against the weight of the earth, represents an inevitable, unavoidable change I/We undergo annually.

The thing is...it's easier getting older, it's harder becoming younger. The Whore is Woman unhinged - She's widowed, but still consorts, still acts as a mistress to the Universe. She's beautiful, She's terrifying, She's powerful, intimidating and awe-inspiring. She's wise, She's hardened, She's the culmination of everything learned, experienced and understood as the Bride. The Whore - the Old Woman - is enlightenment, one agricultural year at a time.

At the start of the year - the Dark year, after harvest, after the king's been cut down - the Whore's still young. She ages with Winter, and, eventually, as time passes and weeks become months the wild, intoxicated parties, celebrations and "black masses" give way to quieter evenings, warmer clothes and amotivation. By February We aren't the sexy, sassy, audacious mistress We once were. We're old, We're tired. We're grouchy and bitter and jaded and hate everything and everyone and SERIOUSLY, WHAT'S THE FUCKING POINT OF WEARING THONGS, ANYWAY, BECAUSE WHO AM I TRYING TO IMPRESS? MY PARTNER OF NEARLY 13 YEARS? PLEASE.

We hate and resent youth with its energy, excitement and naivety. I think, really, We're wary of youth; We've been down that road before, generations upon generations, and We're tired of finding Our way year in and year out. Every year - every Spring - We watch our slate get wiped clean, knowing We have to live through it all again and make new mistakes, experience new embarrassments and deal with the annual heartbreak of love and loss.

The curse of aging - the real curse of aging - is realizing there's no satisfactory trade off. A body of a teenager comes with the mind of a teenager who, psychologically, is still a child. At age 29 with two months to go until 30 there's only one prospect that strikes unmitigated terror into my (laughably) adult heart (well, other than death and that there isn't anything after this) - the prospect of being 19 again with two months to go until 20.

The hallmark of being a proper grown up? Finding yourself going "NIGGA, PLEASE!" when offered the chance of reverting to your retarded, younger self for the sake of something purely physical - youth, and youth's young body. When I feel myself struggle against Spring I feel my "old" self resisting the negative and challenging aspect of being young. That's the problem with Winter's end, if I don't pace the season properly I'm left with nothing but reversed tarot cards - I have negative fighting and pushing against negative.

Spring should be a celebration, a joyous revelry. Who else gets to become young again? Who else does the earth miss and mourn? Who else does the resurrected king love? Who else never dies - grows old, as old as time and then, as if by magic, grows young again?

Maybe there's a part of the Old Woman who, even after all of this time, still fears death and the loss of Herself. What the fuck does it matter if you get to be young again if you lose your wisdom, your enlightenment and your life's experiences? To know and be aware that you have to be reborn, new, without the baggage that made you YOU is a fucking terrifying prospect.

Old Woman, you live my fear of death.