Dalton Woodland Burial

With it being Mothers' Day, I dropped Dan and Abi back at their mum's early, today. On any trip, no matter how short, I prefer not to simply turn 'round and go back the way I've come, if possible, so when I left I turned south to Burton so I could cut back over the tops to Kirkby Lonsdale. 

The two roads east out of Burton both go through some old woodland and I stopped there, this morning, to take this photograph. Recently Dan and I have discussed how nice it might be to go for a walk through these woods and, as there appear to be some public pathways, I've taken a look online to see when we might walk. In doing that, I came across Dalton Woodland Burial.

When I was younger, right into my late twenties, in fact, the thought of dying and what might or might not lie beyond used to fill me with a persistent anxiety. It was a topic my mind returned to again and again. I remember discussing it with a colleague at work once who said he never really thought about it and I was so envious that his brain could work like that.

There were a few things over the years that, in combination, seemed to calm my spirit, perhaps the most significant of which was an acceptance that everything must end (which came from reading about a Buddhist conference where they signified this truth by making a huge and beautiful sand picture at the start which they simply swept away at the end). 

That word 'calm' is not used lightly, bland though it sounds. If you've ever been properly anxious about anything, you'll appreciate was a blessing it is to feel calm. 

Even so, I think there is something wired into most us that means that we shy away from thinking about our own death, particularly what happens to our bodies immediately afterwards. Of course, we can see the logic that we won't need these fleshy vessels anymore but we still feel squeamish about things like organ donation, for example, about someone else having bits of us after we're departed. 

I must admit I rather like the idea of the old Norse funeral whereby your body is set adrift on a burning boat but no other form of cremation really appeals to me (and that one isn't very practical). For a while, I was surprised to find I quite liked the method in India (I think) where bodies were left at the top of towers for vultures to eat but, again, I'm not sure this will be practical, either, especially in the UK. 

Having read the Dalton Woodland Burial website, though, I think I may have found something that appeals to me, especially as the body is not embalmed, which has always seemed a pretty brutal process to me. 

In writing this, I've remembered one Sunday evening in my teens, a time when I used to go to a youth group with some friends. I think it was very loosely affiliated with a church but looking back on it, we always met at different places and never at church, and I can't remember who organised it. It was rather anarchic, looking back on it. Anyway, one evening, we watched a video on embalming and it was horrible: I think maybe that's why I'm attracted to any burial that doesn't involve that.

(Funnily enough, one of my friends, Vicky, found the video fascinating and ended up as the director of a funeral firm. I wonder if this film was how the funeral industry did it's recruiting!)

Anyway, morbid as it might seem, I quite like the idea of knowing where I might end up and I do feel happy at the prospect of simply being put in the ground, without any further process on my body (other than the removal of those bits that might help someone else). I wonder how it's going to make me feel when Dan and I go for our walk?