A Journal; Considering Death, Life, and the Dance with the Feminine
Resurrection, or anastasis, is the concept of coming back to life after death.
In some spiritual traditions, it refers to the return of a soul into the same body. In others, like reincarnation, it points to the reentry of the soul into a different form.
But resurrection, in its truest sense, is not just about a body rising from a tomb.
Resurrection is the reanimation of our being.
It is the return of consciousness to a body that has gone numb.
It is spirit returning to a vessel that has forgotten its purpose.
It is the self coming alive again, after we have surrendered what is no longer true.
We move through endings, unravelings, grief portals. We lose people, roles, illusions. We die into stillness, the unknown, not knowing what comes next.
And when the death is complete, when we’ve laid down the armor of pain and the outdated self, we don’t resurrect by willpower. We resurrect when something else enters the room.
Where Did She Go?
We’ve been taught resurrection is a solo act. A story of a man, a cave, a miracle.
But if you listen deeper, beneath the Western myth, there is a hole in the legend.
- Osiris was reassembled by Isis.
- Dumuzi was pulled from the underworld by Inanna.
- Jesus, if the myth were whole, would have been resurrected by Mary Magdalene, his Beloved, his Priestess, his mirror.
Where did she go in the modern retelling?
Why was she written out of the miracle?
The men fled. The women remained. They grieved. They witnessed. They sang to the bones. They kept vigil.
Resurrection is not a masculine achievement.
It is a feminine initiation.
It is not self-willed revival. It is the return of the Beloved..within and without.
The woman by your side, the mother who gave you life, the daughter that you raise, and devine femine architype within you wanting to seen and realized.
A Glimpse from My Own Resurrection, A Death Portal experience, witnessing my own demise
In my own life, I’ve been walking through a death of identity, quiet but devastating, in at every aspect of my life, love, family, career and even life itself have been power cycled.
The past two years unearthed childhood wounds. My mother had a stroke that left her permanently changed. It tore open grief I wasn’t ready to meet. I blacked out in the ocean in big surf almost 2 years ago, it changed me and led me to quit my career path, leaving my company of 10 years and responding to the Lahaina fires aftermath in search for meaning and calling.
I also experienced painful relational endings, in friendships and romance, mirrors of the boy in me who never felt fully safe. Each breakup and ending became a doorway into deeper intimacy with my shadow self, my patterns and beliefs shaped by fear of more pain.
And now, I find myself in a loving container… yet facing deeper layers.
Love, real love, will confront everything that is not aligned with truth. And here I am.
This relationship has become a crucible. A mirror. A death ground of past wounds.
It has asked me to surrender the fixer, the performer, the hero, the boy who hoped love would heal him, based on his effort, his hard work, his dedication. Without fully doing the work himself and sourcing love from the inside out.
I’m learning to show up not as the rescuer, not as the victim, but as a presence. A listener. The experience itself, without the identity. My aim now is to tune, to the music of life that lives in each moment, each interaction, every step.
And in this, my inner Feminine, Magdalene awakens.
This Is the Work
Resurrection is not a rise to perfection. It is a return to presence.
To stillness. To center. To the truth. To self without the story, the identity, Akua within you, the creator.
And if we are to rise, we must ask:
Where did She go?
We must call Her back.
The women.
The sacred.
The parts of us that still know how to grieve, to listen, and to love without needing to win, protect, or blame.
I cannot resurrect myself alone, not by will, not by force.
But I can choose to become available when the call comes. To enter the tomb and discover it is a womb. The Feminine speaks in a different language. Her truth moves like water, quiet, subtle, undeniable.
When Her song reaches my bones and my heart hints a smile,
I stand at the threshold of resurrection.
New life stirs in the body I thought was too tired to go on.
A new identity begins to emerge, carrying the quiet hope that I might live differently this time: from a higher place, with deeper love, compassion, and devotion.
I remember now that I have the capacity within me
to surf this reality and co-create the love, the family, the community
that brings forth a more beautiful world in harmony with Life.
~Naim
In devotion and deep reverence to my partner Jessica Rose and her ability to rise to meet me in light and shadow, in the deaths and rebirths, thank you!