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He said he planned to freeze to death.

Did he mean to have his body frozen?
Stored to hatch again later,
leftovers out of time's deep freezer of waiting.

No, not that.
He responds with undeniable dismissal,
this would not be his investment 
in Earth's living future plans.

I hope and grope that I will choose
when to freeze my death.

I recall a penumbral hope
stepping out into Connecticut's perfect nor'easter,
stern at onslaught,
like pilgrims 
in nearby lands of granite
states and histories
dragging more gracefully down
and out
into lacey fluff
floating toward quintessential kitschy views

Framed from inside windows
by silently flickering orange flames
licking coal black constitutional wood stove
New England casual propriety,
radiating waspish welcome warmth,
but with appropriate restraint

While I cautiously step
onto my snow-covered front porch,
evenly blanketed front to back,
as if devoid of shingled Cape Cod roof.

This would be a good connected way to die.
Shoveling snow in Promised Land's
evening post-storm quiet,
waiting for far off snow huffers and blowers
to finally rest
without anger 
or wrestling disappointment.

How could we become a better time and place
to re-enter timeless freedom 
of climatic light?

Fearless deep enriching flight
into nesting night
of death's voiceless embodied surprise,
floating out as in
to continue WinWintered play

Recreating mindlove bodylife
by day
regenerating Mother's Love of life ourselves
each climaxing full-moon night
speaking through nor'easter wind
of blight redemption,
bright winged mythic co-reception.

If I were of his fearless content mind
to fade in frosty sublime light,
now would be my time
to threshold off
into enculturing adventures
of co-relational Earthen Love,
holding off my WinWin Climax re-transformation
until this night's threshold,
freezing away from incarnate restraint
of graceless angry fear 
from lively shadows

Losing ego's monocultured golden age
to flow into disincarnate freedom
full as loving tic elating grace

Recomposing Earth's Golden Tribal embryo,
a grand transitional opera
in four snow-bound limbs
of crystal-frosted dancing light
co-arising pure trust resonance.

He planned to freeze his death
to love Earth's Paradise, 
echoing co-gravitating Presence.

My warmth becomes distracting
to this Bodhisattva Devolution
into cosmic-conscious decomposition
of Gaia's frosty musical comedy
sung full-timed operatic pretension
until cold brings time's threshold
storm inviting steadier-state contemplation,
love Beloved freezing absent Presence,
free at last to climax polyvagal integration.

Funny, now, to remember
his pre-climatic drama,
requiring death
to embrace love's timelessly accessible freedom,
when each breath re-engages sacrament
baptizing love's unvoiced promise,
then purging Passion Stories back out
to feed Earth's ravenous trees 
of upside-down rooting 
widely growing wisdom.

It's all so intensely rich and deep,
frosty,
shoveling snow,
remembering a friend
who chose to freeze his living,
celebrating a dance of Full Moon dying
to prehend already present EarthArising Presents.

Bodhisattva breathing in Connecticut's normal
natural connection business 
nor'eastern Paradise Transition,
shoveling deeply 
within newly laid blanketing womb
embryonic tomb.

I hope our kids won't worry or ever fear
that we've chosen frozen to death out here
over all our over-heated operatic flame
of life in chaos deconnecting home.

He said he planned to freeze to death
to sit with passionate Earth's Tribe,
co-rising EarthMother's elating love
CoPresence. 

Even so,
I hope he misses me
as I miss him.
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