We die to many parts of ourselves, and the quality of each of these dying processes determiners the vitality of each rebith. It seem sto me that between heaven and earth there is just the slightest, most permeable membrane, and dthat it is possible to live in both realms simultaneously, at least some of the time. The conjunction of the two dimensions that we so loosely call death and birth is equally permeable. Each courageous end is also the finest and most pure beginning. To journey into that great unknown is the human-making pilgrimage, a gradual return to the image and likeness of God.
There is a Wisdom that arises--sometimes gracefully, sometimes gently, sometimes awkwardly, sometimes fiercely, but it will arise to save us if we let it, and it rises from WITHIN us, like the force that drives green shoots to break the winter ground, it will arise and drive us into a great blossoming like a pear tree, into flowering, into fragrance, fruit and song ... in that part of ourselves that can never be defiled, defeated or destroyed, but that comes back to life, time and time again, that lives--always--that does not die.