Bereaved Comforts

I once had a dear friend who died many years ago. Her family lavished flowers everywhere you looked. Her husband went into debt for her coffin, made of fine wood and brass handles. Perhaps for him, this was his subconscious way to substitute for how he would have lavished his love upon her if she had continued to live. That is the only reason I could come up with at the time. I guess I don't really understand this part of our American death rituals very much.

Do we put the deceased in a strong, sealed coffin because of the idea of the creatures that might eventually desecrate the body? What is it about the coffin? Is it a way to preserve the body, a way to feel like the person is still intact, safe, in a location we know we can go to and be with them, even though underground? What in the world is the purpose?

I keep wondering about the flowers, the ones I, in the past, vehemently stated I wanted no one to give me after my death. How foolish of me to think they would be for me! How oblivious to not realize Linda's flowers were not for her. I've realized the flowers are for the living.

We want to clean up death. We want to find ways to make it prettier, more acceptable, and flowers can do that. The natural beauty of flowers have a powerful effect on the psyche. Why not place flowers around the coffin, on the coffin, for the viewing? Why not have them at the grave site? Without them, the dismal effect of the whole situation would be more painful. We, the bereaved need comfort too. Flowers can bring upliftment of the spirit and that's a great comfort in our time of mourning.

I think now I understand a little bit more about this whole process that I once thought was barbaric.

Lover's Dream

This gentle tune is called Lover's Dream.

It was written and recorded by Mark Salona.

Copyright 2008.

I hope you enjoy the music!!

http://www.youtube.com/user/nutsocket

Saying Good-Bye

If we are traditional, there are fixed ideas we have about death where I live, except perhaps with cremation. We have the body made up so that the deceased looks healthy and happy, as much as possible. We have a viewing where friends and family come and share time with the deceased to say goodbye. We give eulogies, share stories of his or her life, how our lives were affected by this person.

Recently, I've realized that all the ritual we have regarding death of our loved ones is very much to honor them. It also helps us with our grief since it gives us comfort in our bereavement. The idea in our society that death is negative derives from the fact that we will miss that person who died, that there is an empty space in our heart that needs to be filled with something else to replace the fact that he or she will not return.

If one is not present when the death occurs, there is a sense of not having had the opportunity to say goodbye, therefore the ritual of viewing the body. Dressing our loved one in favorite clothing, and physical features made to look healthy and happy can provide a sense of completion. We may tell ourselves, the loved one is no longer inhabiting the body, but still, we want to revere the receptacle which housed the soul we will miss so much.

In our grief, thinking rationally may not be a high priority, and spending money on a satin lined coffin, for example, has everything to do with how much we wish to provide comfort.

Though we might understand that the body, nor the being that once inhabited it, will physically benefit from lying on a cushioned bed surrounded with lovely pleated fabric, we have the need for ourselves to symbolically swaddle the one we loved as we may have in life.

Have you ever offered a friend your coat when they were cold? Shared a blanket? Done something, anything, to help the loved one be more comfortable? Seems to me this is our one last attempt to do the same thing when we say goodbye.

Soul Watcher

In that moment of disconnecting from the body, the clarity returned. We could be with each other, equally sharing the Knowing. Memorizing it to carry forward.

We designed the fulfillment of the our goal through many lifetimes to gain enlightenment, not just for ourselves but also others whether they remembered or not. And soon it would be time for us to join again, permanently, if we could just get you to come through this next time in connection with your remembering.

Then all to soon it was time for you to sleep.

So quickly the knowing gets murky. But, of course that is the way it is. We take our chances when the will is stronger than the seeker within. The will blocks direct communication. It has to make the choice to open to the seeker. I could only let you sleep and return to my Light studies until you were ready.

I remember when first we met this time around. You in the mist, curled like a little seedling, dreaming of this world, then letting it lift you until it fell away. Yes, even then a part of you was ready to leave. You began floating along in the warmth of the darkness.

I wanted to tell you then, how things would be, but I knew you would have to find out for yourself.

It was my job to protect you and guide you. And you were in no state to be approached with the Knowledge. I wished I could tell you. But you had to re-discover it for yourself.

Most every one has an idea that includes the sense of the protector, the messenger, the guardian angel. So many times you saw masculinity as divine. It was natural that was what you expect me to fulfill.

I was just your soul watcher as you had been mine. I took the form you needed... we needed... to join as one in the end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: Digital art by Elizabeth Munroz

What Choice?

I wish
I could have told you
certain things.
Too many factors
blocked
our connection.


There are no regrets.
Simply...
it is how
it unfolded.

We are challenged
from all directions.
Each having
it's own cause
and effect;
it becomes
a matter of choice
which way we'll go,
where we are lead,
who we follow...
or not.

We take our path
with intention
fiercely burning
or not.

We stand aside
we watch
observing molecules
dewdrops on tulips
letting life happen
or not

I wish
I could have told you
what you needed to know
that you would survive
and become
someone else

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Digital art by Elizabeth Munroz

Amy Obenski: Words on a Page

Voice poetry, I call it. Only better. Amy's got a new video out. I'm enjoying the nuances.

End of the World?

"Just When the caterpillar thought her world had ended she turned into a butterfly."
~ Proverb

Vase Gazing

It was like having a well-trained dog whining at the door with a leash in his mouth insisting you take him out for relief. I felt so unsettled. I must do something! Anything... to finish unpacking from my move. So, I grabbed the box sitting nearby. It was full of fine glass vases in different colors.

Collecting beautiful glass vases just so that I can set them in a windowsill sans flowers has been a hobby of mine for many years. My mother collected them passed some on to me to start my own collection. I like to gaze at the colors when light shines through them. I find vase gazing soothing to my soul.

I didn't realize it at the time, but this collection created a significant bond between my ex-roommate and I. When I first moved into Helen’s home, I asked if I could line up my vases in her huge living room window. She didn’t mind, but was surprised that I had such a collection. She had never heard of such a thing, and thought it a little odd that I only liked to look at the bright colors and not put flowers in my vases.

As time passed, I added more to the collection until the sill was crammed tightly with them. Shortly before I was to move to my new apartment, we had a yard sale and I culled many from my collection to sell. 

I sat up the night before, pricing them, as I packed away the keepers, leaving the window bereft. It made quite an impact on both of us the next morning as we noticed how drab that corner of the room had become without the emanating rainbow of color. During the yard sale Helen gathered up my culled vases and insisted on buying them from me, then put them up in her window. "Where they belong." She said.

Saints and Sinners

The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future

-- Oscar Wilde, "A Woman of No Importance"

Geneen Roth, Women Food and God

Oh, how I wish I could attend this event. Geneen Roth is going to be in Watsonville soon. I have a previous engagement from which I cannot excuse myself somewhere else. I met Geneen years ago and she inspired me so much.

I can't wait to get my hands on a copy of her new book. I'd like to understand my most unusual relationship to food. Due to medical problems I can barely eat enough to sustain proper nutrition, but it sure doesn't look that way. My body hangs on to every ounce I ever had. I would like to look at this as normal and maybe even spiritual as it looks like her book elucidates:

Women Food and God: An Unexpected Path to Almost Everything

"The way you eat is inseparable from your core beliefs about being alive. No matter how sophisticated or wise or enlightened you believe you are, how you eat tells all. The world is on your plate. When you begin to understand what prompts you to use food as a way to numb or distract yourself, the process takes you deeper into realms of spirit and to the bright center of your own life. Rather than getting rid of or instantly changing your conflicted relationship with food, Women Food and God is about welcoming what is already here, and contacting the part of yourself that is already whole—divinity itself."

Read more from her site

Wanna Buy a Computer, Mister?

Geek Granny

sits in bed

with two laptops

installing anti-virus

and updating 30 files

from Windows

It's like staying

up all night

with colicky babies.

Disposophobia

Definition of Disposophobia:

"Compulsive hoarding (or pathological hoarding or disposophobia) is the excessive acquisition of possessions  (and failure to use or discard them), even if the items are worthless, hazardous, or unsanitary. Compulsive hoarding impairs mobility and interferes with basic activities..."

~~~~~~

Note: 

Digital Art by Elizabeth Munroz

Not Dying

I will not die an unlived life.

I will not live in fear

of falling or catching fire.

I choose to inhabit my days,

to allow my life to open me,

to make me less afraid,

more accessible,

to loosen my heart

until it becomes a wing,

a torch, a promise.

I choose to risk  my significance,

to live so that which came to me as seed

goes to the next as blossom,

and that which came to me as blossom,

goes on as fruit.

-----Dawna Markova

Music to My Ears.

I was surprised to find part of my manuscript on the doorstep today. I had asked a friend for a read and critique. I'm so encouraged to learn that my writing had passed inspection of this retired educator whose opinion I hold in high esteem.

I called to discuss with her the few sections she marked with comments. Interestingly, these were parts I had stumbled over, and had decided to let sit until the right words would come later. After all, this was a first draft of just a section of my new book to be. Perfect phrasing is not born from first thoughts and pen scratches or pecks at the keyboard no matter how inspired the author, I believe.

I was flattered to learn that while she was reading, she became absorbed enough she forgot she was supposed to read critically and instead was enjoying the read for what it was.

I look up to and admire this woman's expertise and it was a tremendous boost to my confidence and an inspiration to keep writing! Today was a warm fuzzy smile day.

Carousel

Spinning carousel returns the same old horse again
Ramble on and on,
the thoughts that fill my head
Sometimes I wake up
there's nothing there but emptiness
so I search myself for what there was to do

Flashing backward still
I think about my youthful dreams
Honest childhood, running dry of years
Sometimes I look back
it doesn't seem that it was me
So who was I then, who am I today?

Can you hear me now?

My thoughts are moving fast
can't seem to catch them in the draft
Floating upward like a kite that's left my grip
Flying higher toward the sky, so blue
I crane my neck
And try to follow as it drifts off into space...
  
lyrics © by Amy Obenski

Carousel was part of an episode on "Grey's Anatomy" in season four.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: published by permission from Amy Obenski