I don't know why anyone would be afraid of being eaten alive. I mean, I get it. I understand it conceptually. I just don't relate. Maybe it's from feeling Life work through me since I was a child, using my hands to care for the beings of this world, that I've grown to deeply trust.
Even the gruesome bits and the chaos. Maybe it's how a Death Goddess has taught me - grabbing me by the back of the skull and holding my face in the rot until the stench became a thing of beauty. I'm writing this now as the snow is eaten alive by the coming Spring. I'm writing this as a rescue bunny nibbles pellets in a hay-lined box. I'm writing this in a body that has fallen off a cliff, been bit by rattlesnake, tumbled off roofs, watched headlights stop inches from my face, been cleaved by childbirth and loss, been broken hearted, betrayed, lain naked in wild meadows with sun soaked thighs, laughed til I've almost died. Do you know my final conscious thought as I lay pinned at the bottom of the Deschutes river? "How beautiful!" And I think it's why the water sprite let me go - she felt my awe for her realm, awe instead of fear, so she released me. Elk has kicked my door, waking me from a sleeping dream into a waking one. Elk ran through my chest by a fire in a cave, shattering something, waking something. I've been eaten alive more times than I can count, consumed whole, eaten in bits, watched parts of me ripped out and sat gaping at the hole. That snake eating its tail? It's worth meditating on. It's worth staring at until you awaken the truth in your cells, taking it in until you can shapeshift out of your human skin - shapeshift into your true form. Shapeshifting is a great example of being eaten alive. You change. You never truly die. You just change.