Death is one of the most exciting and taboo subjects in American culture. Even moreso than sex, death is glorified and overdone by the media while being completely unapproachable in daily life. This spiritual dichotomy of over-stimulation and forbidden-ness creates a huge rift in the collective American psyche. There are thousands upon thousands of fictional deaths portrayed in graphic detail on screens of every size, every day. Yet, I have personally witnessed how a very natural death in real life is seen as something to be feared, whispered about only, forgotten as soon as possible, even ignored. I have personally been the one to call the police because a dead body was sitting on a bus stop for hours and nobody wanted to "get involved". I have personally been the one to hold the girlfriend of the car accident victim because everyone else is too afraid or confused to approach her. I have personally been the one to hold my dying beloved as they took their final breath, because I refused to "just go home and get some sleep".
All my life, I have walked very closely with the Grim Reaper. His skeletal hands have pointed me in directions I never would have dared travel otherwise. My first experience with homicide was at age 5, my first experience with natural death was at age 8, my first experience with the suicide of a friend was age 13, my first experience with seeing the execution of someone innocent live-streamed was a couple years ago, my first experience with knowing someone who died in a mass shooting was just a few weeks ago..... I am sure I could go on, but I imagine my point is made. Death and I go way back. All the way back.
This vibration makes me undesirable to many people. There's something "not quite right" about me. There's something about me that makes people feel downright uncomfortable before they even know my name is Raven and I practice occultism. That something is most often my unwaivering awareness and reverence of death. Don't get me wrong, there are other "dark" things about me to know and become frightened about, but my relationship with the Reaper is often more than enough to isolate me.
Why is it "normal" to call the police when someone you love dies a completely expected and normal death? There's no need for alarm. There's no need for a big black zip up garbage bag to cart away the shell of someone that meant something to you. There's no need for florescent lights and strangers and toxic chemicals and unfamiliar surroundings. I would know. I led a six day in home funeral in my living room, and so can you.
I have no fear of death.