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Victoria Mortis, painting by Owe Zerge

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I had a dream that opened immediately to me sitting on the edge of an indoor, hotel swimming pool. I was in a bathing suit with my feet dangling in the water. I knew right away that this was a dream, and I thought to myself that it was a pleasant one, because I love hotel pools so much. I love when they're so warm and accompanied by a hot tub as well that the entire room is steamy. I love when there are big windows so you can see winter outside. I love the children making friends and inventing intricate games in the water with strange children they'll never see again. I was enjoying all of that, when a woman appeared beside me, sitting with her feet in the water.

It was as if she blipped into existence, but it also felt that perhaps she was there before, and I hadn't noticed her. We both took a moment to look startled, and then we said hello. She looked like she was in her 60s or 70s. I started on small talk, and then she calmly and politely told me that she believed she was dying. I didn't know what to say. I said, "Oh. Are you sick?"

She said, "No. Right now. I think I'm dying right now."

She pointed across the swimming pool, and sure enough, she was there too, lying on the ground while someone performed CPR on her. Everyone was silent. The children stood in the pool and watched, ignoring their parents frantic, silent waving to come out.

The woman told me that the young woman and man beside her were her adult children. The children behind them were her grandchildren. Her husband was in their hotel room. I still didn't know what to say, so I asked her about her children.

She was worried about her son, who was going through a terrible divorce. She said he needed her. I told her that he would be okay. I told her about losing my dad when I was young and the way my friends and family took care of me. She was happy to hear it. She said she felt better about leaving. Then she said, "OH! I think I'm going back."

She was gone in an instant, and across the swimming pool she started vomiting water. I thought, "How nice I could keep her company during that ordeal" and "I should have asked her name so I could reach out to her." And then I woke up feeling like I didn't sleep at all.

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pet cemetery in yorkshire. it was the biggest stone in the lot 🐁

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papyrus fragments of the book of the dead, c. 1323–1295 b.c.

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I'm gonna start referring to being a psychopomp as 'human trafficking'

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I saw something at spirit Halloween tonight

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The scythe being associated with death bc it harvested souls like wheat suggests the possibility of several other farming analogous tools, processes and systems by which human souls are converted into the staple foodstuffs of Death Incarnate as wheat is to flour and bread. If we’re good maybe we’ll get to be a brioche.

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If the world were truly a bad place the sea would not crash against the shore in such a mesmerizing display of untamable power and indescribable beauty

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this isn't a new or revalatory take but there is something i adore about how immensely loving about the human inclination to personify death is. like, we realised that we won't be there to help the ones we love when they cross over to where we can't follow, so we made them (and ourselves) someone who can

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“you should be at the club” i should be by the sea. i should be in the mountains. i should be awestruck and rendered speechless by the majesty of the natural world. if you even care

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*walking down main street sweeping my scythe back and forth in front of me* watch out bitch! watch out bitch! 

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