Illustration credit: https://urnabios.com/
Could this be food for thought for non-commercial business ideas for thriving kins domain’s community food forests? Training Honoring Life’s Final Passage https://finalpassages.org/
Thus claiming back the rites of passage that bring us to this plane of existence, and also the final rite of passage to exit it.
More references for this idea here:
https://stockfreefarming.org/one-hundred-ways/
https://www.birthintobeing.com/waterbirth
https://urnabios.com/forests-cemeteries-green-burials-bios-urn/
https://www.wellandgood.com/transcend-tree-burial/
https://mainetree.org/2019/08/planting-yourself-in-the-forest-green-burials-are-a-growing-html/
https://www.greenburialcouncil.org/
https://grist.org/fix/pollution/green-burial-forest-cemeteries/
https://www.lhlic.com/consumer-resources/green-burial/
Finally, here goes an encouraging excerpt:
[…] I already mentioned to you that the bodies of deceased
family members were buried only in the garden or among the
trees of their own domain.
Those people were fully aware that while the human soul
is eternal, the material body, too, cannot disappear without
a trace. All objects, even those which appear to be soulless,
carry within themselves a great deal of information from the
Universe.
In the Divine nature nothing ever disappears into oblivion.
It only changes its state and its fleshly form.
The bodies of the deceased were not covered with head-
stones, and even the places of their burial were not marked in
any way. The Space created by their hands and soul served as
a great monument to them.
And, changing their state, the now soulless bodies gave
rise to trees, herbs and flowers. New children were born and
The history of mankind, as told by Anastasia walked among them.
Oh, how everything around just loved
the children! The spirit of their ancestors lingered over the
Space, loving and protecting the children.
Children treated the Space of their Motherland with love.
Their thought created no illusion about life being finite. On
the contrary, the life of the Vedic peoples was infinite.
The soaring soul passes through all the dimensions of the
Universe, and after visiting a number of different planes of be-
ing, it is once again embodied in conventional human form.
Upon waking in the garden of his Motherland, the child
will once again give a bright smile. The whole Space responds
to his smile. And the little rays of light, the breeze rustling
the leaves on the trees, the flowers and the stars in the dis-
tant sky will sigh: “We are at one, embodied by you, child of
Divine being.”
Even today people cannot figure out why elderly people liv-
ing on foreign strands ask to be buried in their Motherland.
Such people intuitively suspect that only their Motherland
can bring them back to the Earth in a Paradise garden, while a
foreign strand rejects their souls. To have their bodies buried
in the Motherland has been the aspiration of people’s souls
for millennia. But can a cemetery be called a piece of the
Motherland in any nation?
Cemeteries are a markedly recent phenomenon, designed
to tear human souls apart in hellfire, demean and subjugate
them, make them into lowly slaves.
Cemeteries are like… Well, they are like cesspits, where
people go to get rid of their useless junk. The souls of the
dead are tormented over cemeteries, while the living are ter-
rified of cemetery plots.
Picture to yourself, by contrast, a kin’s domain of Vedic
times. Bodies of many generations are buried there. Every
little herb aspires to tenderly care for those living therein, to
be useful to Man’s life in the flesh.
But every herb and every fruit in the garden can suddenly
become poisonous when faced with aggression on the part
of a newcomer. That is why nobody even thought of taking
anything without asking.
The domains could not be seized by force. They could not
be bought for any amount of money Of course, who would
dare trespass upon a place that is capable of destroying the
trespasser?
And each individual here endeavoured to create their own
marvellous oasis. The whole planet grew more beautiful with
each passing year.[…]
Megre, Vladimir, Book 6: The Book of Kin, 145-146