Radio Manu, Papa Cango.

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But when death comes into the house, it's a god, it's a deity, right?

It has, it enforces a kind of etiquette, a fundamental, like spirit etiquette, you could say.

It doesn't ask you to obey it, it simply asks you to allow its place in the proceedings.

That means your understanding of love has to be so altered as to probably be unrecognizable to you.

That's Stephen Jenkinson, today's guest. He's one of the most thoughtful, articulate people I think I've ever met.

I really enjoyed this conversation on levels I can't begin to describe.

I talk about this a little bit in the beginning of our conversation, but this was recorded yesterday.

Today's Monday, October 29th. This was recorded yesterday, morning.

Yesterday afternoon was the memorial for my dad.

And this was the only morning that Stephen and I were going to be in the same place and could put this together.

So it wasn't intentional that I met with one of the world's foremost experts in death and grieving and all that stuff on the day of my dad's memorial service, but that's the way it came together.

And there you go, the world works in funny ways sometimes.

So it was a very relevant conversation for me. And Stephen is, as you'll hear, incredibly articulate and has a way of expressing thoughts that is unique and resonates on multiple dimensions at the same time.

It's almost like whale songs or something. It's amazing. After the podcast ended, I read him a poem that I've read on this podcast before.

But I thought maybe I'd read it again here at the beginning because it's one of my favorite poems and it's been a while since I've abused you with poetry.

So this is W.S. Merwin and the piece is called for the anniversary of my death, which is bringing attention to the fact that we celebrate our birthdays every damn year, but we don't celebrate our death days.

And there's some asymmetry to that, which is telling.

So Merwin says, every year without knowing it, I have passed the day when the last fires will wave to me and the silence will set out tireless traveler like the beam of a lightless star.

Then I will no longer find myself in life as an estranged garment, surprised at the earth and the love of one woman and the shamelessness of men, as today, writing after three days of rain hearing the rents sing and the falling cease and bowing, not knowing to what.

Every time I read that poem and I probably read it 50 times, I'm impressed again, a new by the way, Merwin, like packages, emptiness in a way, he, he, the whole point is we don't know the day, the calendar day.

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