Hold My Hand

When we look at nature, it’s really easy to think that life is forever. Like it’s this “happily ever after” place that offers shelter, light, endless fruits, and calm. Yet that’s just half of the story. Because there is also death in it, and a lot of it. There is darkness as much as there is light. There is night as much as there is day. Here, Life is the left hand of death and death is the right hand of life, for they are one. It is the end and the way.

In other words, death is not an unwanted guest in nature that knocks on the door; it’s the resident, and so is life. Death is the very fuel of life, and it works like an orchestra.

First, go the decomposers—bacteria, fungi, insects, and scavengers—breaking down what has passed. Then, plants absorb these precious nitrogen, phosphorus, and carbon into the soil, transforming decay into renewal. Herbivores feed on this growth, sustaining the carnivores that, in turn, will one day return to the earth.

Without death, life would starve itself, for an ecosystem without endings is an ecosystem without beginnings.

Memories and individuals—human or not must sink like stones into the depths of Earth for new ones to rise. It is a terrifying truth and also a breathtaking one. It gives meaning and purpose to every second.

Death is not just found in endings but in the smallest sprout, the first cry of a newborn, and the final flicker of a dying star.

A Forest Rises

And so the earth turns, cradling the bones beneath the green and turning them into flowers in the first spring. A carcass fades, and a forest rises. The old moon wanes, making space for the next sun to climb the sky. We breathe countless lungs before us and drink rain from yesterdays clouds Every silence is a sound. The wheel of life turns and the music goes on, never doubting, never pausing—not in grief nor in triumph.

Parents

We have two parents in nature: life is the nurturing mother, and death is the strict father. They both love us, but in their own ways. Life cradles us, nourishes us, fills our lungs with breath and our hearts with longing. She lets us dream, stumble, rise, and fall. Death watches from the shadows—not as a thief, but as a patient guide. He teaches us the weight of time, the beauty of our fleeting existence, and to live it fiercely. Like every good parent, they complete each other.