When I die

please take me back to the places I love. 

Take me to the trail that was my home, where I fell in love with my life and my place in the natural order of the living and the dead. 

Scatter me in the meadow overlooking the valley 6,000 feet below; the first place that brought me to tears purely because taking in its existence was a bliss I could not contain. 

Let my ashes settle in the desert sands where I laughed hysterically while dancing naked in the moonlight…and then to the rich soil of the mountains where I made love in the warm morning sunlight as it feathered its way through the pines. 

Take me to the rivers and lakes where I swam, there in their crisp, screaming cold waters, and giggled with glee as the water washed over me. 

Let me float in the breeze of the mountain passes where I folded my body into the earth, exhausted from the struggle, but not yet defeated. 

Find those places where the wild flowers grow, and set me tenderly at their roots, so I too can become a part of something so delicate, so beautiful, so wonderful. 

Let the parts of me that are left become something more than what I was. 

I once thought that I wanted my body embalmed, placed in an ornate casket, viewed, and mourned in a church. Let me look as if I’m sleeping, and for god’s sake, do not let my body be burned. Loved ones would cry while touching my cold hand before burying me in a cemetery where my body would be safely tucked below ground. What was Me, separate from the dirt in a nice dress, with a grand headstone above saying SHE LIVED AND IS HERE, preserved in a sealed cocoon. For years to come, people would know some stranger with a name had lived because a headstone told them so. This. This seemed like a pleasing way to be put to rest, but that was before my time out there.  

Now, after walking on that trail for months, away from our curated way of being, and daily bearing witness to the new life that death brings in nature, I can not stomach being separate from that. Do not put me in a box, tucked away from all that I loved, all that I was. I too, want my death to feed life. I want to touch the dirt. I want to burn just like the trees and the sages and the grasses do when the fires rage their way naturally through the land- regenerating and bringing nutrients to the soil in their wake…creating space for what’s to come. There is undeniable beauty and power in the flames, in the ashes that remain, and in the new growth that, as if by magic, appears in the charred landscape so shortly after the earth has cooled. It is to me, an almost unbearable beauty and I yearn to be a part of it when I die. 

I’m not afraid of the fire that will one day consume the body my spirit has left behind…instead it brings me a sense of calm knowing I, too, can be a part of the natural order of living and dying. What is left of me can rest in the wilds where the flowers will know me and the trees will dance in the wind with me. 

Take me to the trail. Take me to the place that made me feel alive, and let me be there. Remember me, if you like, when you walk it’s ridges and spines. Place your feet on the steps I once walked and breath in the glorious air. Remember my joy when you nap in the shade of a golden larch, and know I am there with you, exactly where I want to be.