The thinning of the veils has begun, can you feel it? I can. I sense my ancestors closer this time of year. They naturally begin to stir in my subconscious mind, and dreamtime.
As the nights grow colder, we are naturally drawn inward. Having spent Día de los Muertos a few times in Mexico, I can truly say, there is nowhere I would rather be, the energy is so palpable, the smells, the beauty, the honoring of life & death… but this year, as well as last year I spent it in hospice care.
I have been interning in hospice care for different educational requirements. I knew I was drawn to this sacred threshold work. I have always felt a deep connection to the underworlds, to the mysteries that lie beneath the surface of ordinary life, and to the human experience of pain and suffering.
The mystery of life and death is something we can never fully understand. 
But through witnessing, through simply being present in these spaces, we begin to recognize that we are standing in sacred territory, on holy ground. To walk into the room of someone who is on their journey, is to walk into the mystery. When someone takes their last breath, we are witnessing a moment of profound holiness. It is the other side of the same threshold we crossed when we emerged from our mother's womb and took our very first breath.
Sometimes in hospice, people say that you can learn something about a person's life by witnessing their dying process. Not necessarily because the manner of their death defines the life they lived, but because each person's passage is uniquely their own. Some transition peacefully, while others experience terminal agitation or other phenomena. Again, the mystery speak… and in that same vein, around this sacred time, we see many more souls taking their sacred exits than any other time of year. Coincidence?
Perhaps this is one of the gifts of this season. We are reminded that death is not separate from life, but woven into its very fabric. The leaves surrender. The earth begins to rest. The days grow shorter, and we are invited inward, toward the things that matter beyond the noise and distractions of our everyday lives.
In the traditions of my ancestors, and in the traditions I have come to love in Mexico, there is a recognition that those who have gone before us are not simply forgotten. We remember them. We speak their names. We make offerings. We tell their stories. We carry pieces of them forward in the way we live.
And perhaps honoring the dead is also an invitation to examine how we are living.
Are we living with intention? Are we loving fully? Are we tending to the relationships that matter? Are we making room for forgiveness, for joy, for the things that give our lives meaning? What are we leaving behind, not in material possessions, but in the hearts of those who have known us?
Working in hospice has taught me that the threshold between life and death is sacred territory. It has also reminded me that we do not need to wait until we are dying to consider what makes a life meaningful.
Perhaps the work of living well and the work of dying well are not so different after all.As the veils thin and the ancestors draw near, I find myself less interested in understanding the mystery and more interested in learning how to honor it. To remember those who came before me, to accompany those who are making their passage, and to live in a way that honors the preciousness of the time I have been given.
May we remember our dead. May we honor those who are making their passage. And may we live well enough that when our own time comes, we have known what it means to truly be alive. 
Poem passage
Te esperaré porque sé que volverás, así como todos han vuelto.
I will wait for you here, where we were supposed to meet before, on another afternoon, in another time.
Paola Klug ( Brujas Morenas)
✛ ✛ Amy Maria ✛✛