Tales about death and life ~India, Chile, Canada~

The stories described below may contain sensitive content, especially for those grieving. If you feel that this is not the right time to read it, trust your intuition and respect your nervous system. If there is something that is pulling you to read it but you feel that this is not the time, save it for when it’s appropriate.

We all have different experiences, perceptions, beliefs and feelings about life and death. These stories only cover a small fraction of mine.

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It was February 2017 and these were my last weeks of traveling after 6 months traveling solo around Asia. It had only been two months since the passing of one of the most important and influential figures in the development of the person I was at that time. While I was enjoying new experiences, seeing incredible places, learning new things about the world and about myself…as I touched the first layers of my spirit’s freedom, my heart was in deep mourning.

For those two months I had been trying to connect with his energy to say goodbye, because even though I had told him how much I loved him before leaving Chile -knowing that it was probably the last time- I needed to, in one way or another, hug his heart tight against mine and thank him for blessing me with his presence in my life. These were the first steps in the development of my intuitive abilities and energetic connection, although at that time I did not know it. While I toured countries, cities, museums and places with great historical significance, I spoke with him. I wrote and told him how much I was seeing and learning, and how I imagined us spending hours talking about so many things: from philosophy and religions, geography and sociology to the evolution of my soul. And he started visiting me in dreams, telling me he thought my new haircut was cute and showing me lost memories of my lineage. The last time I had a dream with him, he wrapped me in a layer of light before sweetly saying goodbye.

Varanasi is considered one of the 7 sacred cities of India. People from all over the country travel for days to get there, many spending almost everything they have to cremate their dead and pour the remains into the Ganges River, in faith and hope that this act will free their souls from the wheel of karma and allow them to rest for all eternity. The ancient city is built on the banks of the river with buildings called Ghats. The perspective from a boat in the water allows you to see something beyond the once-luxurious intention of its constructions. Women bathe in the river and wash sheets and clothes on the slopes of a Ghat that these days works as a hospital. Children play football and cricket in the next one that appears to be an abandoned building. The Ghat that follows is full of religious offerings, flowers and burning incense. The next one has smoke and fire 24/7, burning large piles of wood that act as a bed for bodies wrapped in cloths, which are then deposited in the same river that houses all the activities described previously. Subty, and at the same time bordering on scandalous for the western mind, Varanasi is a representation of life itself in coexistence with all its apparent dualities; it’s a place with a relationship of harmony and cyclicality between life and death that I had never experienced before.

One of the nights of my stay in Benares, Kashi or Varanasi, I attended the crematorium. There’s a space assigned for outsiders from where they can observe the ceremony from afar, separated from family members and avoiding disruption. I was sitting in the stands, with a respectful intention and complete willingness to observe from a place of neutrality. Shortly after arriving, a new large pile of wood was lit by the master of ceremony. It didn't take long for the fire to catch the fabrics. I remember there were two elements that deeply impacted my experience at that moment: sounds and smells. In the absolute and complete silence, the first thing I noticed was something melting, then big crushes came -it took me a couple of seconds to understand what was producing those sounds- and that's when I perceived the smell. It was clear that I wasn’t the only one who felt it, as indicated by the explicit discomfort of some attendees around me. In those moments I heard something that seemed to come from something beyond my mind:

“The body that lies motionless on that pile is not the person those relatives loved, their true nature transcends the laws of the matter. The physical body is the element that allows us direct access to the essence of each other, their light, what we truly love. What we miss and long for is constant access to that light.”

A single tear rolled down my cheek, without angst or sorrow but more like a symbol of liberation. My mind opening to something my heart knew all along, that we have the ability to connect beyond materiality.

That was a trip that, as I would come to see years later, was changing the direction of my life and my way of perceiving the human experience forever.

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The following two years were marked by accompanying two long and suffering aging processes. Two women; two of my motherly figures. Each one had a different experience while at the same time they were full of similarities. At that time I was living in a different city from them and every week that I could travel, I went to visit them. As time passed, their presence weakened. Each time I said goodbye with so much intention, love and presence because I never knew when it could be the last time. Sometimes they were calm and happy, even in their apparent absence; Many times they were very tired and longed for their departure. Those were years of giving them all the love we could, cuddling them and trying to comfort their physical and emotional pain.

While I was going through processes of deep existential crisis and transformation, questioning everything I was and what I believed and wanted out of life, my heart was in deep mourning. Those were months of so much gratitude and perspective, of letting go, rebuilding and maturing…my identity changing faster than my mind could sustain at that moment.

My first week in a new job -which meant more of a redirection of life than a change of activities- my lolo passed. The one who taught me to write from my heart, to create and enjoy small rituals of everyday life. I said goodbye sadly but calmly, writing and speaking to her in front of hundreds of people who also loved her.

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One day when I went to visit her I could see that she no longer knew who I was, and yet, her heart knew that we were close and loved each other very much. For a long while I stayed there, holding her hand and cuddling her. We felt the warmth of the sun on our skin and we enjoyed it together, just like when she took care of me when I was a child. Our energies hugging each other, wrapped in love.

I hold that day in my memory like a magical treasure. I didn't want to leave, I didn't want to let go of that connection. I told her everything I felt needed to be expressed: for her to be in peace; that we loved her and were infinitely grateful for everything she gave us; that her presence had been a true gift and beautifully impacted our lives; that I was very sorry for everything she had had to go through in her youth; that I was proud of her bravery and that she was a powerful example to me. I thanked her so much for choosing love even after such profound injustice. I told her not to worry about us, that her love would hold us and that we would always remember her, especially when cooking.

That experience began to strengthen my confidence in my emotional intuition and helped me understand a little more about my gifts to perceive them.

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Facing the death of someone we love often brings us an invitation to reflect. For me it usually comes as a space to appreciate and be grateful for the evolution in the relationship I have cultivated with life.

An opportunity to question, reorder and/or reaffirm priorities.

An impulse to continue recognizing and developing my talents.

A reminder to love widely, to feel very loved, and to treat my energy, my body and my life, as the sacred gift that it is.

A call of attention to a broader perspective.

An invitation to continue walking and sharing what I have experienced, instead of greedily keeping it to myself for fear of rejection.

A push to use my time to every day feel freer to be myself and love more my imperfect humanity.

A moment to breathe deeper.

Lovingly,

Berni