As January continues to unfold and the landscape begins to subtly shift, I find myself returning to a familiar posture. Not one of arrival, but of preparation.

There is a moment before anything meaningful takes shape when attention matters most. Not because something is happening yet, but because something is being made ready. In nature, this moment might not be dramatic. It can be quiet and feel patient. This is where I am right now.

Across ancient cultures, people oriented themselves to the land and its cycles. They watched the sun, the water, the flowering of plants, and the timing of decay. Celebrations arose in response to what was actually happening in the environment, rather than being fixed abstractions.

In Egyptian cosmology, the setting sun marked a threshold rather than an ending. The sun did not vanish. It passed into another realm where renewal began. The western horizon was understood as a place of transition, sometimes symbolized by a feline guardian seated at the edge of the world, holding the space between what had been and what would come. It's twin (of sorts) sat seated on the opposite horizon in patient expectation of for the cycle to return, the sun to be rebirthed in the East.

That attentiveness to cycles continues inspires and informs my work.

Where I live, near the equator, seasons do not unfold in the way many people expect. We move primarily between two, with brief transitional periods that can easily be missed unless we are paying close attention. If we listened more carefully, we might notice many more micro-seasons shaping our lives than we were ever taught to name. Out of this awareness, Momento Oro emerged.

Momento Oro is a pop-up celebration of a specific tree and its cycle. The event is not scheduled far in advance or designed to repeat in the same way each year. We have a WhatsApp group of people who know what the objective is, to celebrate the blooming of this tree (which happens once a year for 1-3 days max). It's a short window. We are waiting for notice. We pay attention to detail and we are ready to semi-spontaneously gather when the occasion arrives. There is no fruit to harvest from this tree, just beauty of a small Earth-given miracle that evokes joy around impermanence.

Alongside this idea, yet from a very different place of origin, Frody Fest was born. Frody Fest began as a response to grief.

After the passing of my father and about 5 years later, Frody (my cat of 20 years), it became clear to me that there was very little communal space for processing loss. Especially in a way that allowed for complexity. Grief has stages. Some are heavy. Some are tender. And some can be surprisingly playful. Frody Fest grew out of the desire to hold all of that at once. Allowing grief an orchestral piece versus being played in a single tone.

This coming year, Frody Fest enters its ninth year. Nine is considered a number of completion. According to cat lore, it certainly is (the whole nine lives thing). But this year feels like a milestone, not a conclusion. It's a point in the journey that seems to be inviting greater care and intention. It's been carried for a long time and it's asking to be approached with fresher attention.

In that spirit, I will observe and listen (kind of the same thing) and perhaps add some fresh top soil to the garden bed of Frody Fest. As Frody Fest is an annual gathering that honors death not as something to avoid, but as something that can beautifully shape how we live, it seems appropriate to invite another being who has been working over a decade in the same spirit.

I have known Mary since we were both teenagers. Over the years, I have witnessed her move through many stages of her own life, each one refining her ability to sit with transition and loss. Her work is not symbolic or theoretical. It is lived.

Without saying too much, she has been practicing as a death doula for over a decade. Her availability to individuals and groups are shaped by the realities of that work. Her contribution to the conscious dying movement has been exquisite to watch. She's a true artist as she reveals the beauty we have been trained to overlook and shun in Western cultures.

As Frody Fest moves into its ninth year, it feels like this is definitely the right moment to begin orienting toward a deep conversation with her. This is not an announcement of what will happen, nor a promise of form. It is simply the acknowledgment that her presence, when it arrives, deserves this thoughtful preparation.

The stage is set for Mary.