I Went to My Own Funeral

I know, I know — it sounds morbid.

And maybe it is. Maybe this isn’t for the faint of heart. But if you’ve felt the quiet unraveling lately... if you’ve sensed a cycle ending deep within your bones… read on.

This month has felt like a death — not of the physical body, but of the part of me that believed I must constantly DO to be worthy.

Instead, I have slowed.

I have met myself through the fragility I once tried to outrun.

And in doing so, I have embraced a truth that all of nature already knows: death is not an end, it is a sacred part of life’s cycle.

In Numerology, this month I entered a 9 Personal Month within a 5 Personal Year.

The 9 energy speaks of endings, transformation, completions, a sacred surrender of what no longer belongs. It often feels like a soft, slow death — not to punish, but to prepare. To clear space for what is ready to emerge.

The 5 energy is the butterfly, the agent of change. But when butterfly energy meets a 9, it is not the time to soar — it is the time to cocoon. To be undone before being remade.

I am realising more and more that aligning with these natural cycles — my own inner seasons — is not a luxury. It is essential.

When I resist, I tighten and fracture.

When I soften, I come home.

And it is not just personal.

We are moving through a 9 Universal Year collectively, a global cycle of endings, clearings and spiritual composting.

This April, a 4 Universal Month, called us back to the bones of things. It reminded us that true growth — the kind that lasts — needs sturdy foundations. Not quick fixes, not surface shifts, but honest, anchored rebuilding.

A quiet inventory of what truly supports us… and what no longer does.

This message was echoed and amplified by the Super New Moon in Taurus on April 28 — earthy, slow and unwavering in its invitation to root deeper, to build from the ground up, not with urgency, but with intention.

Sitting in this space — the space between who I was and who I am becoming again and again — often feels tender.

It feels sacred.

It feels holy.

It feels like attending my own funeral — not with grief, but with deep respect.

Because I know that every ending I honour makes space for a new beginning I have not yet imagined.

And so I sit.

And I breathe.

And I trust the timing of my own unfolding — from egg to larva, from chrysalis to wings.

As a woman, this cycle is not a metaphor. It is the map.

Especially when we move through the great thresholds of womanhood — from Maiden to Mother, from Mother to Maga and from Maga to Crone.

These aren’t just archetypes; they are seasons of the soul. And each asks something different of us. Each demands a different kind of foundation.

The Maiden dreams and dares. She is the spark — full of curiosity, intuition, wild hope and fierce becoming. She builds through exploration, through saying yes to life before she knows the cost. She gathers experience like wildflowers, unaware that some will wilt and some will root. Her foundation is built not through certainty, but through the courageous act of stepping forward into the unknown.

The Mother then gathers all she has touched and births something of form — be it child, creation or community. She builds through care, protection and fierce devotion to what she holds dear.

The Maga, the wisdom woman, arrives when the world has demanded too much and she remembers herself again. She builds by reclaiming — her voice, her boundaries, her rhythm. She no longer performs. She alchemises.

And the Crone…The Crone builds through surrender. Through spaciousness. Through saying no. She does not construct in the way the Maiden or Mother once did — she distills. She strips back to essence. Her foundation is forged in silence, in knowing, in the sacred emptiness that prepares the way for the next beginning.

To honour these transitions is to acknowledge the sacred architecture of our wombs. To slow down long enough to ask:

What truly supports me now?

What must I let go of to stand firm in this next season of myself?

I often hear Steve Weiss’s words echo through the silence:

“We must keep dying to keep living.”

At the time, I understood it from a surface level — a poetic idea that resonated but hadn’t yet rooted itself into my bones.

Now, after walking through this month of surrender, I feel it in my cells.

Each breath, each season, each shedding of old skins is a necessary act of devotion to life itself.

We do not die just once.

We die a thousand tiny deaths along the way —

deaths of identities, attachments, beliefs, obligations and expectations.

And in doing so, we make space for life to continue unfolding through us.

As this month comes to a close, I am reminded of this truth again.

To live fully is to die many times — to be reborn again and again, softer, wiser and more true.

This is the sacred dance of endings and beginnings, the quiet miracle of surrender.

And so, with gratitude, I lay this month to rest.

I honour all that has fallen away.

And I turn my face toward the horizon, open to what life will breathe into me next.

Because with every ending, something softer, truer and more whole begins to rise.

Reflect + Reconnect:

What are you ready to lay to rest?

What season are you in — and what would it feel like to honour that fully?

If this speaks to something in you, I invite you to explore your own soul’s rhythms through Numerology. Let’s walk these cycles with more clarity, more beauty and a little more grace.

From my heart to yours,

Lamisha

Join me Sunday 6th of July:

Wisdom of Numbers: Intuitive Numerology Workshop