Growing up, I built Day of the Dead altars every year as part of our school's cultural activities. I remember carefully arranging marigolds, sugar skulls, and photos, treating death as something colorful and celebratory. Back then, it felt like a fun art project. Now, as an adult, I find myself wondering. Why do we humans swing so wildly between celebrating death and being paralyzed by it?

In my teens, death was abstract. Something to be decorated with papel picado and pan de muerto. But the first time I truly faced mortality, when I really thought about it, the realization hit me: one day, everything I am would just... stop. No amount of festive skulls could ease that primal fear. The truth is, we're afraid. Not just of our own death, but of the devastating silence left by those who leave us.

Yet here we are, turning death into Halloween parties and true crime podcasts, while simultaneously being unable to sleep when we really think about our own mortality. This duality fascinates me. How we can laugh at skeleton decorations one moment and be gripped by existential dread the next.

The Yogis offer an intriguing perspective that's helped me navigate this paradox. They teach we are immortal spirits having a temporary physical experience. Like actors so absorbed in a role they've forgotten they're in a play. "Death is but an aspect of life," writes Annie Besant, "and the destruction of one material form is but a prelude to the building up of another."

What's interesting is that even understanding this spiritually doesn't magically eliminate the fear. Just like knowing a roller coaster is safe doesn't stop your heart from racing on the first drop. Maybe that's the point. Maybe we're supposed to feel both. The primal human fear and the deeper spiritual knowing. Maybe those childhood altars I built weren't just about celebrating death, but about learning to dance with our fear of it.

Acknowledge both realities. Your very human fear of death and the peaceful understanding that, somehow, consciousness continues. Not as a comforting fairy tale, but as a mystery you’re slowly learning to embrace.