She died on a July afternoon at 3pm. It was peaceful and expected and she was in her own bed. Her husband of 72 years, my Dad and my sister were bedside on her right, I was on her left. There were things to be done in the immediate aftermath. Call hospice. Call family members. Bathe and dress her one last time. Her body was still warm. The undertakers came. I watched them take her body out of the room. I looked away when they were about to zip up the black bag. As the hearse pulled away down the drive a great clap of thunder rang out.
I remember wondering at about 5pm through my heaving sobs where I would find her again and where I would see her beautiful blue eyes again? My computer was still playing the song list I’d built for Mom. It was a long list and one we’d listened to almost non stop over her last months. Just then, the Pat Metheny song, Find Me In Your Dreams came on. It did not seem like an accident.
A little while later the rain had stopped and I stepped outside. Looking up at a bright blue sky, there, I thought, that’s where I’ll see her blue eyes. Mom was everywhere.
Today, on Mother’s Day five years after her death she still is everywhere as is the ongoing expression of her love. It’s as if her mothering essence was absorbed into the Great Mother Spirit in the sky to become yet another facet of its majesty. I see that loving spirit in the tender touch of a Mother to her child in it’s pram. I feel it as a Mother, seated next to me on the plane, reads to her young child. I smile over it as yet another Mom explains to her hungry young son what they will have for dinner tonight in a passing conversation on the street. I experience it in the pollen carrying wind. Mother love lives on.
They were on the ground again. Darn. Those same wind chimes, big ones with tones I adore had come unstrung and lay mute in the leaves below the tree on which they were meant to be hanging. Not the end of the world to be sure but they were grace notes in the wind when properly hung and I missed them.
For the third time in six months I set about to repair them. Rooting around in the garage this time I found even stronger wire. Surely this repair would hold. I completed the task and hung the chimes just before I left for an extended few winter months away.
The season passed and eager to be home I pulled up the drive…all looked well at first glance except that not only were the chimes not on the tree they were not to be found on the ground beneath the tree. Mysterious. Winter must have been more brutal than usual I thought.
My brother in law called welcoming me home and asked if he could come by to drop something off. He and my sister live only a few minutes away, “Sure” I said. When they arrived he was carrying the wind chimes. Re-strung wind chimes. He is a retired surgeon and explained the procedure he had performed on the chimes…special wire, special knots, additional lacings. As he described his process I wondered when he had even registered that the chimes were down? I wondered if I would ever have thought to do something so kind for a relative or a friend? If unprompted, would I have gone out of my way to perform so laborious a task?
It’s just the kind of thing he used to do for my folks when they were alive. Swing by after a long day’s work just to check in, to change a light bulb, to bring an interesting newspaper article, to listen to one of their stories. He shows up. I think that’s one of the many reasons why my sister fell in love with him. He performs the tasks that don’t garner applause. He volunteers to do the jobs no one else wants or even thinks to do.
Years ago my life had taken a lousy turn. A divorced Mom, financially on my own with a young teenager to finish raising and educating, I was about to fall off a fiscal cliff. It was a very scary time and I was scrambling to figure out our way forward. During a painful discussion on possible options, my brother in law, who had been largely quiet during my ramblings, fell even more quiet. Then he said something remarkable. He told me I could move in with them if such time came as I needed to. It was an extraordinary offer and he was sincere in it. Suddenly I could breathe. Suddenly I had hope. His generosity of spirit bolstered me at a time I deeply needed bolstering. He didn’t have to issue that kindness, surely he knew it would have been greatly inconvenient for him and for my sister for my young son and I to move in with them…but he did it anyway.
As it turned out resilience, luck and life force all convened in my favor and we did not need to move in with them. Turned out it was just one of the life valleys I had to walk through but my steps had been made ever so much lighter having been companioned by so generous an offer. Now, when the wind chimes sing in the breeze I think of the kindness from my fine brother in law, of the many grace notes he continues to put in the lives of so many, including mine.
The front page of my paper this morning, yours too I imagine, had the astonishing photo…make that first photo ever, of a black hole.
The article says of black holes, that “If too much matter is crammed into one place, the cumulative force of gravity becomes overwhelming and the place becomes an eternal trap. Here, according to Einstein’s theory matter, space and time come to an end and vanish like a dream.” It goes on to state that equations in Einstein’s theory of general relativity “indicated that when too much matter or energy was concentrated in one place space-time would collapse, trapping matter and light in perpetuity.”
Also in the paper this morning was a new science report on even faster erosion in Alaska than previously found. Word that the US Attorney General without evidence is asserting one president spied on another. Word that, with the recent lowering of emissions standards, US automakers will be facing a divided consumer base. Word of immigration hell and Brexit mayhem. All that was just the front page. To my mind it was timely therefore that the headline for the first image of a black hole read “Peering in Light’s Graveyard”.
The dividing and virtual lens through which we view the world is mind bending. Sophisticated feeds of false information, fantastic conspiracy theories made to look real and false virtual identities abound. I heard three extraordinary journalists speak recently about how Facebook is quantifiably the documented conduit of misinformation through which unsavory leaders and referendums have risen to power. Duterte in the Philippines for one. Astonishingly, Brexit another.
The image of the black hole on the front page is ringed by what’s termed an event horizon…a blazing circle of fiery gases warning of the abyss. Feels to me sometimes that our own event horizon is within sight. There are days after reading the news I want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. There are nights I wake up with worry about our world and just hang on. Count me, in other words, amongst the throngs of concerned citizens.
I’ve lived long enough to see love dissolve hate. Long enough to experience that evil can be eradicated when love pulls its up by its roots. Long enough to know that rational thought can lead out of any mental jungle if we, as the 23rd Psalm encourages us to do, keep walking. So, to the best of our ability may we heed the event horizon’s warning and each have the courage to hold to that beautiful, bright light…to the true and loving and rational. I really don’t know how else we avoid getting sucked into the vortex.
Perhaps this near deep dive into the dark is the process of un-rooting it. If so, bring it on.
The headline read “Eagles Become a Nuisance”. “How could that be?” I immediately asked myself. Not eagles! Those soaring, majestic wonders! The article explained that eagles, once on the brink of extinction, have come back full force. That’s the good news. The complaint however is that they rummage in garbage dumps and drop what they end up not being interested in whilst flying over residential neighborhoods, sometimes poncy ones. Just to put “garbage” in the same sentence as “eagle” seems sacrilegious to me.
I remember one fourth of July I was in Jackson Hole with my family. We had opted that beautiful morning to raft down a stretch of the picaresque Snake River. Looking skyward from the raft during one lazy stretch I spotted the regal symbol of America perched in his/her tree eyeing us as we floated by beneath him. I could swear s/he was looking directly at me as if to remind me through his/her knowing and powerful gaze of all that is grand about America. In the moment, it felt like a benediction from on high.
On another occasion I was sailing in the Northwest when a whale suddenly breached in front of us jutting straight up out of the water enjoying his afternoon snack of a school or three of fish. Hundreds of shrieking eagles swooped and sailed in to the capture what the whale did not eat. The precision and power on display was operatic and humbling.
I learn from google that the eagle is “a symbol of great significance.” That because s/he flies higher than any other bird, s/he is “believed to be the creature with the closest relationship with the creator and thus as conduit, conveys the powers and messages of the spirit.” Further that the eagle is “ symbolic of the importance of honesty and truthful principles, perspicacity, courage, strength and immortality.” Not bad for a bird.
On record for the heaviest load to be carried by any flying bird, was one mighty flapper who hauled in flight a 15 lb mule deer fawn. Now that would be something to find dropped from on high in your back yard. I also learned that female eagles are as a rule more powerful than the males and tend to be the ones to take charge. OK, cool. Food for thought.
So how, I wondered reading this article, could so majestic a creature be reduced to being a nuisance? But maybe s/he’s not…what if as a spirit guide s/he’s giving us a message? A message to wise up about dealing with our garbage. A message along the lines “clean up the mess you’re making” or “waste not want not.” A message to pay attention to the planet while we still can.
I’m going to go with that, pledge to do better with my recycling and hold onto that beautiful gaze from that beautiful bird in the tree in Jackson Hole once upon a fourth of July morning.
Can’t say I didn’t try. New chap, introduced by mutual friend in hopes that a successful romance could bloom. He’d enjoyed a big success early in his career brought about solely by strength of his own brilliance. Clearly smart, energetic, big traveler, nice first dinner followed by a few more and many calls/emails. Fun…enough to keep investigating. Hilarity ensued.
In our getting to know you chats we discovered many shared interests, including the opera. A few dinners later we decided we’d take a road trip to one a few short hours away. Risky on one level but how else was I, were we, going to find out if something could bloom? A few weeks later, off we went. Two rooms at a VERY swank hotel, positioned discretely across the hall from one another. There’d been a stop for a challenging hike and some cooing on the five hour drive enroute and a glass of wine over dinner, maybe two…being in the same room for some further exploration seemed the thing to do. As he reached for me on the bed now…that first reach, he starts talking rapid fire about jewelry and what pieces he had owned, sold and now prefers to wear…of particular note was “a very expensive Swiss watch.”
“Forge ahead” I think …”maybe it will get better.”
I think he was onto a trip he had taken to Russia as he was reaching for my posterior.
“Forge ahead” I think, “maybe it will get better.”
A pause… “Promising” I think. Then its over. Over? I know because he’s snoring. I slinked back to my room trying to figure out WTF just happened?
Next day we go to a spa…private hot tub to be followed by massage. We’re in the beautiful, private outdoor space…a very nice setting. In true 60’s style he bounced out of the cabana buck naked and now in daylight I see to my horror that his nether region has been waxed within an inch of its life. All that remains is a tiny Hitler like mustache at the top of the disappointing apparatus. Well, its a choice I guess. I can adjust? Against my will, my mind travels to imagining what that waxing session must have been like?
We’re in the tub…jets going…could be romantic. Instead, he stands with his back to me facing the jets which, if he crouches, and he proceeds to do so in a sort of rapid bobbing plie motion… by my estimation will jet his whatnots. So much for romantic. He is however telling me of his trip to the Mustang region of Nepal, bobbing apace all the while.
Nice dinner…I learn a lot about his brilliant and pioneering work in computers, all very interesting as it was truly outside the box thinking. “I’m impressed. I’m inspired.” I think as we leave the restaurant. Not terribly late…dinner went well…maybe things will stir? Nope…off he goes to his room with “Nite, nite. Lites out, jammies on!” and with some relief frankly, I retreat to mine. “Breakfast in bed.” he says over the phone the next morning. OK. Maybe he’s a morning person? I go next door in a sort of drapey beach wrap number. Room service trays, Sunday Times…all very nice. A few stories about his 46, literally, trips to Argentina. The wrap strategically draped, I muster a come hither energy to the best of my morning ability and…nada. Not a glance, nod or comment…just nada.
He does however tell me about his face products…many of which he’d found on a recent trip to Paris. He has many, many more than I. Serum, toners, creams for day and night, puffy days, dry days, masques, sun screen…then the choice of perfumes… Again I’m impressed but not really in the way I was hoping for. Wardrobe consultation…should he don the peach from Istanbul or the pink from London? I go with the pink. He enthusiastically agrees as its “Fresh, like a summer splash.” I then give myself a pep talk in my head, “I am not a beached whale, I am not a beached whale.”
Delights on the weekend were aplenty… galleries, friends, restaurants, the opera (which was extraordinary), etc. and I will say that he was fun, engaging. Could well be we’d travel again together as buddies now that it was abundantly clear what we would not be.
Deep breath. On to the next.
Force or flow? I have so very much to be grateful for. That said, life rhythms for me feel about 20% flow and the rest gets done by force…pushing ideas and dreams forward. The wheels keep turning but there’s no grease on them. Does that make sense? I mean it as a mere statement of fact, one that does not agree with my little girl fantasy of a fairy godmother (in pink or blue, I could never decide) swooping in and fixing what mess either life or I have made. I do not live in Syria, I have not been forced to flee a dead end and dangerous life in Central America, my family members are healthy, so I know I’m extremely lucky to even claim 20%. Days I can go at it with gusto those are the flow days. Those beautiful days when you feel inspired, capable and fearless. Then there are the others when you have to draw on resilience, on faith, when you set your self to the task even, especially when you don’t feel like it. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that on some of those “force” days I have to frame life in very small increments of time and rely on whatever wisdom I can muster to see me through to the next step. At this stage of the game I suspect we’ve all experienced disappointments, dead ends, great big highs and some hefty lows. As grateful as I am for each of them the good and the bad, there are moments when I think I’ll break under their emotional weight.
So this season as spring begins to pop, I’ll be working to find more flow than force…or maybe just to find more flow within necessary force. May the flow be with you.