I think it's bold of you Peter, to initiate a discussion by exploring your own fear.
According to my own thinking, the embrace of death is vital to my own rewilding. But, I am, like you, afraid to die. I do not yet live up to my own philosophy.
Interestingly, I think we are afraid to die for different reasons. I am the opposite of a hypochondriac. I'm more of a slob. I don't worry at all about the sensation of dying. But it seems plain to me I am not doing enough living. This is emotional anguish.
I want to really LIVE before I die, and sometimes the obstacles seem insurmountable. I'm in a really bad rut of being shy, lonely, and depressed. I'm physically and even financially capable of living all of my dreams, starting now. I have no excuses. I know exactly what to do, but I have so little emotional energy to act. I seem to have taken a lot of emotional damage by defying society. But I think I need other people now, to heal.
And that's scary, because, as a single adult male in this culture, I will never again be part of a family by default. It is very possible for me to waste away alone, as many isolated men do in my rural county. I've learned that even marriage is a fragile unreliable way to create family. Any family or community for me must come entirely by my own creativity and energy. And that's horrifying, because I have so little energy now, having deprived myself of some pretty basic social needs. I once had the strength to wander far far way from the group, and now I've hurt myself, and need help, but I feel beyond help.
I can't expect to be nursed back to emotional health by a band of Sioux hunters, or a Samurai village, or blue alien foragers, like in the movies. If I want something like this, I have to create it myself, but I'm just one guy in the face of huge cultural opposition. Love is conditional, on my success. It's scary.
And so I feel stuck in this half dead state. The tragedy, it seems, is that my limits were not physical or mental, but emotional. In my youth, I did not anticipate this.
In this half dead state, I can live totally immersed in nature, and feel no outstanding passion or joy. Where I sleep, animals sometimes crawl on me, and I suppose it's possible to be killed by an unusually bold bear, wolf, or cougar. But there is no thrill in this- it's kind of a pain in the ass. What I think about is close human company. If I were dying, I would use my cell phone, to express some stifled half-assed form of love, to one of the long distance "girlfriends" I seldom see.
This is why, presently, I am afraid to die. I'm not afraid of the bang, but the whimper.
People are ironic. In the activist, expect someone who has come close to giving up. In the survivalist, expect someone who has a tenuous commitment to life. In the rewilder, expect someone plagued by the unnatural and over-civilized. Those who see the world's problems best are those who have been most thoroughly smashed by them.
So, some may judge me for having such fears and weaknesses, but they are all part what gives me the unusual bravery it takes to rewild.