Shoveling I-Cycles

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 future plans. I hope and believe that I will choose when to freeze my death. I remember his hope stepping out into Connecticut's perfect nor'easter, stern at onslaught, like pilgrims and nearby islands of granite states and histories, but then dragging more gracefully out into lacey fluff floating toward quintessential kitschey views framed from inside by silent flickering orange flames licking coal black constitutional wood stove New England casual propriety, radiating waspish welcome warmth, but with appropriate restraint, while I remember to 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 too 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 disappointment. How could we become a better time and place to re-enter timeless freedom of empathic light? Fearless deep enriching flight into nesting night of death's diastatic elational surprise, floating out as in to continue WinWin play as recreating love-life by day and regenerating CoLover's Love of love ourselves each climaxing full-moon night, speaking through nor'easter' wind of light redemption and 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 carnating restraint of graceless angry fear of lively shadows and losing ego's permacultured golden age to flow into disincarnate freedom full as loving tic elating grace, recomposing Earth's Tribal Golden Embryo, a grand transitional opera in four snow-bound limbs of crystal-frosted dancing light elating pure true resonance. He planned to freeze his death to love Earth's Paradise, echoing co-radical Presence. My warmth becomes distracting to this Bodhisattva Revolution into cosmic-conscious decomposition of Gaia's delicious musical comedy sung full-timed operatic pretension until cold brings time's threshold storm inviting steadier-state contemplation, love Beloved freezing Presence, free at last to climax multicultural Elation. Funny, now, to remember his pre-climatic drama, requiring death to embrace love's timelessly available freedom, when each breath engages sacrament baptizing love's diastatic promise, then purging Passion Stories back out to feed Earth's ravenous trees of upside-down rooting 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 Presence. CoMessiah breathing in Connecticut's normative normal natural business nor'eastern Paradise Transition, shoveling deeply within newly laid embryonic blanketing womb 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 quiet reConnecting home. He said he planned to freeze to death to sit with passionate Earth's Tribe, co-rising Time's elating love, CoPresent. Even so, I hope he misses me as I miss him.