the cycle of life
"The book of life is the supreme book, one that cannot be closed nor reopened at will. We long to return to the page where we love, yet the page where we die already lies beneath our fingers." Lamartine
A few years ago, my grandfather sent a Christmas card to all his grandkids and great-grandkids. In it, he had written a quote by Lamartine that, for reasons I couldn’t quite explain at the time, stirred something deep within me. I never forgot it.
Today, as I write this newsletter on September 12th, I carry his words with me. By the time you read it, my grandfather may have already chosen to return to his family in the invisible world, as he expressed the wish to do. As painful as it is to lose someone you deeply love, I see his departure as a celebration of a new beginning. Ninety-two years of living, searching, enduring, and experiencing life—it’s admirable. Life is never simple, but it is always worth living.
This brings me to the cycle of life and the way my family has spoken about death. When I was about eight or ten, my father drew me a very explicit picture to explain his view: that after life, there was simply nothing—just the void. For him, I think that was a soothing thought, a kind of peace in nothingness. My mother overheard and quickly added her perspective: that when you die, you return to your family, and Heaven is a beautiful place. That exchange, in many ways, captures the essence of my parents’ relationship—solitary versus together.
My father always believed he would die at 20, perhaps one of the reasons he joined the military. That prophecy never came true—he is still here at 75. My mother, on the other hand, has always carried a passion and optimism for life, so long as she could age with dignity and vitality. And in truth, we’ve been fortunate. My ancestors have mostly lived long lives. Only recently has my family faced the reality of more dramatic deaths.
For me, I’ve never feared death. I see it as the ultimate relief, even a kind of vacation. Life on this planet is an experience, but I believe true life is in the invisible. Of course, I grieve the loss of those I love, but I also trust that when their time comes, their life is complete.
In Family Constellations, one of the most important practices is choosing life. Too many people live with one foot in life and one in death, often without realizing it. When that happens, it shows up as self-sabotage, fear of love, avoidance of happiness, or guilt about simply existing. Sometimes, this entanglement is connected to a miscarriage, an abortion, a suicide, or a parent who died young. Out of subconscious loyalty, you may be saying: Don’t worry, Dad—you’re gone, but I’ll follow you. But the truth is: your ancestors don’t want that. They want you to live, to choose life fully, to do better than they could, and when the time is right, you’ll meet them again.
This is why acknowledging the deceased, breaking the silence around death, and recognizing unborn children are so essential. Choosing life is the most powerful decision you can make. Better to commit to life wholeheartedly, even for a short time, than to drift endlessly between life and death. Because nothing concrete can grow in that in-between.
They say life is precious and that aging is a privilege. I believe the same: live in alignment with who you are. Don’t obsess over controlling the future. Be here, in the moment. And whatever you do, don’t let that final page slip away with regrets—that you didn’t say I love you, didn’t open your heart, didn’t take that leap of faith, didn’t leave the job, didn’t get married, didn’t walk away, didn’t send that message.
And I’ll end with another quote: They didn’t know it was impossible, so they did it. We can always find blocks, fears, and reasons not to act. But if you look back, your life itself is proof that you always found a way. That is called faith—faith in life, and in surrendering to its flow.
With love,
Marine Sélénée