The ground was cool. I’d been looking at the moon and it was strange when blue fireworks seemed to be exploding from its craters. Then the noise, deafening before everything was yellow.
I was in the garden, dissolving into an infinite honey fluid light
I felt the moment of surrender, the gentle slide toward nothingness and everything, and it felt expansive, peaceful - beautiful.
Opening one eye I realised I wasn’t in the garden, I was on the kitchen floor, a lump swelling on the back of my head, gravity’s rude insistence dragging me back into my body. I could hear my eyes moving and the sound of my own pulse deafening.
“It’s okay, you’re safe to sleep, just let go,” I told myself.
“4… 3… 2…”
And then:
“Oh no you don’t.”
It wasn’t a thought. It wasn’t mine.
Something witnessed my surrender and demanded I make a cup of tea.
“I don’t want tea.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
So I pulled myself up and boiled the goddamn kettle.
Somewhere in me, something had chosen to stay. A force beyond logic had clawed me back. And that unsettled me more than anything.
I keep thinking about that moment. About what it means to stand at the threshold and realise that death is not just a door, but a negotiation.
So let me tell you a story about a woman in the future who had the chance to cross over, and doesn’t…
Lilith had always known she would die twice.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Lilith + Eve to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.