interlude. intermission.

just like you

this interrupted space

demands to speak

just like you

this silence crawls the undergrowth.

all this time,

I have been tangled

and singing your name,

pulling thorns from my skin.

each time you speak,

I blaze.

the memory shocks my blood and heart

and all is forgotten and

forgiven.

this stone, this clay,

this rosewhite beautiful.

this thread of hope,

this dreaming.

all the rest of living is a pause

until you arrive

emptied of absence and flight.

in my very wings,

begins the things that will discover

sky and true

blue beauty.

if my tears grasp the keys to my own freedom,

they will rain and

rain and

rain

until

the sun startles me back into

a new day,

alive with your laughing

or wise to know my way.

Supernatural Aid

Once the hero has committed to the quest, consciously or unconsciously, his or her guide and magical helper appears, or becomes known

hands of light held across the shadow of my sleep.

I thought it was your ghost.

You said it was an angel.

mine.

hands.

that are large enough to contain the whole of me

who can be so small,

sometimes.

and blue eyed blackness,

all fur and fang,

glides stealth and steady next to me.

the syllables of you sing

in my skull,

my throat and my

heart.

I dance you in the corners of the stage

without even recognizing your face.

and you are here,

still.

your song, a prayer.

your hands, a haven.

Refusal of the call

Often when the call is given, the future hero refuses to heed it. This may be from a sense of duty or obligation, fear, insecurity, a sense of inadequacy, or any of a range of reasons that work to hold the person in his or her current circumstances.

because it is dark and I cannot see,

my skin quivers at the sounds of mystery.

I have been born into a vessel of porcelain,

alone.

alone.

I could not hear you if you shouted it.

there are certain things not understood.

love. courage. trust.

belonging.

now I'm asked to walk these useless parts,

through fire and flood and

fearlessness?

no, nobody ever said there would be no fear.

but, in spite of it,

to walk, to run, to crawl, or slither.

My muscles lock, unmoved by movement.

my soul stills, unstirred by stirring.

the sky swallows me whole

and I fall

and fall

and fall

into circles and circles of unendable circles

hearing the same scream over and over,

each time I pass it.

when I am not running in terror,

I am frozen and emptied.

soul stupefied and staggering.

from this thin grip of living,

you would ask me now to climb?

from this sheer height of madness,

you would ask me now to dance?

The Call to Adventure

The call to adventure is the point in a person's life when they are first given notice that everything is going to change, whether they know it or not.

your footprint landed square in the palm of the great mother's hand;

you tickled her skin with all your pacing.

when the moon pulls herself up to sing,

sometimes you are the only one listening.

(so you think)

(so you think)

just because the night has fallen, don't assume for a moment that no one sees how you dance; hands like rain, you spin like sand turning into glass.

every color shines in you when the sun finally wakes and rises.

gulls gossip about their dreaming.

with this next step, you arrive to a moment you've not met before.

draw on the thing inside you that recognizes its own face in the stars;

in the stature of a well rooted tree.

courage resides within your bones and breath.

pray only that your walking will carry you home again.

pray only for the trust in the journeying.

Departure

and we set the vessel on its course, not knowing which wind will carry it

and we drift and ride the wave after wave after wave,

not knowing if we ride further away or towards our own arrival;

not knowing what calls us home.

house of sand and fog.

wondering why this movie was slipped onto my plate right now.....

Shakespearean tragic with a capital WTF.

it brings me round to what I have circled around for the last couple of days.

grief upon grief.

Oct 24 was the one year anniversary of F's suicide. She wrote notes. locked the door. then, swallowed something like 80 prescription pills and drifted into death in her bedroom.

I was seaside at the time. fighting; the seams were fraying. Bold truths were sitting in the corner of the room with their arms crossed, toes tapping. I'd already paced the shoreline, feeling lost and wild.

Peace and truces were in play and things had just started to quiet back down. The phone call surprised me and jumpstarted my heart. It was late.

Mom called to tell me. She came right out with it. F passed away.

Immediately, I was engulfed in tears and shock. I sobbed and shook myself in disbelief. Should we drive home tonight or wait until the morning? morning. Held, I cried until I fell asleep.

In the morning I kissed the sea, wept and said a prayer.

Once I was back home, there was very little talk about it. There was no place to openly grieve, except for within the therapeutic hours. The love that held me took his distance. If there was a way in to talk with my family, I couldn't find it.

Her burial happened within a day or two. Just the nuclear family.

I didn't get there. We didn't get there.

Dad didn't go. wouldn't go. couldn't go. who knows? Later, he horrified me with reason. Right now, I can't go into that. Or maybe I could, or should.....but, right now, I won't. It's too much.

I wrote poems for F. I pulled her pictures out and wept. I sat at my altar and prayed. It was all I could do.

I wondered, and still do, what happened for her after death. After taking her own life, would there be consequences? Is everything taken into account in that case? Does it matter?

Is she lost still? Has she found home?

Does she need help?

Has her suffering ceased? Is she a ghost?

I miss her. It was raw and real when I was in Florida for dad's passing. I was in her house. I visited her grave. It is across the road from dad.

I miss her kindness. She asked no questions when I told her about my divorce. She immediately said "I want you only to be happy. If this was not good, you find good. you deserve a good man, happiness. You have this. I wish this for you. I love you so much"

I miss her cooking. Oh, what can I say about the Persian feasts she would prepare daily. Her culinary generosity and art was exceptional.

I miss her.

F, I say this to you....where you are, I hope is good. I hope you are happy and feeling good, not in anymore pain. You deserve happiness, peace, freedom and love. I wish this for you. I love you so much.

soliloquy.

it's 1:55 am and i cannot sleep.

fear. pain.

the dark holds all the monsters.

tonight they are here.

okay. okay.

I invite them to stay so that I may know them better.

fear.

kind of like an opossum. I lie here still and barely breathe.

it is vague and looming; like the other shoe is going to drop.

nothing is safe. nothing is certain.

inhale...and hold.

death. is. permanent.

si is gone.

in this lifetime of mine, I no longer have a father.

there are no more chances for recovery.

there is no road left; no possibility for miracle.

I will never hear the words I needed to hear.

of course, maybe I never would have even had he lived another 200 years,

but, now the hope is gone.

my voice.

my need to speak has left me vulnerable.

alot of eyes are watching and, true mostly,

their hearts are holding me.

but, there is a feeling like overexposure, my skin is flinching and nervous.

like I've told all the family secrets

and now, there will be hell to pay.

shocked that I am still so afraid.

and shock.

as things settle and integrate,

the rewind button accumulates what has passed.

how this began.

and then I remember the shock.

the fall, the breakin, the burglary.

the surgery, the theft.

the cats, missing.

the dog, missing.

the car, stolen.

the house, ravaged.

the denial. the apathy. the rejection.

the courage it took to go there.

to go there.

through all layers of time, to revisit the old haunt of terror.

where it all gathered itself like a knot of snakes.

the horror.

the witness.

the truth. the truth. the truth.

and the denial and indifference.

the scorn and rejection. the separateness and loneliness.

the helplessness. the hollow.

the all alone.

the all alone.

the all alone.

the cats, found.

death and more death.

horror and more horror.

pity, horror, shock.

and "no, I don't think I love you...."

ringing, ringing, ringing

the devastation of wounding,

over and over

again and again.

and, the blindness, the advice to "not take it so personally"

the mean, cold wind.

the shiver of separation

the price of the thaw.

and, mind dissolving....

the wrenching grief of

dementia.

the suffering and confusion.

the wild and lost

the wearing away of the body.

the shock

the shock

the shock.

my own mortality reminds me

I am only alive for a short while

make it count.

and my hand reaches across the bed, to

wrap myself around the body of belonging.

and I am alone.

and I don't know why love eludes me.

and my heart is claimed by a love that loves me

that leaves me alone without

words or warmth.

and I don't know why love eludes me.

the grief reaches the place of family.

the mother in me

sits seaside, staring,

wondering what became of the longing?

all these gifts gone to ruin.

kept deep in my own pockets.

pain.

physical and bewildering pain.

this agility that moved me is rusted and breakable.

I move and cry.

the bones scream.

the muscles and sinew resist.

my energy tightens and hides in dark spaces.

this frightens me and frightens me

and grieves me.

all this happened so fast.

the train barreled down the tracks and ripped away,

ripped away.

I had songs to sing, that now I forget.

I had dances to dance, that might break me.

I had dreams.

I had hope.

I almost had love...it was so close, but now

I see that everything has only been a passing glance.

a near miss.

an almost.

the grief grows down and roots itself.

I am to sit and accept all of this?

yes.

I only have this one life.

this one, wild, precious life.

can I face another day?

will I waste another moment?

my dreams and longings surrendered for disposal.

I'm meant to stand and walk away from them?

i don't understand.

i'm not meant to.

it's 2:26 am....trust is a thin word.

grief, pain, fear and loneliness are fat cats eating the feast.

silent lovesong.

tell me it is not snow

coming down

inside

a world of plastic smiles and

polar bears.

tell me it is worth the wait.

these hands are real.

this voice, too.

kindness held in recognition.

tell me,

you see it too.

it is not nothing

to ignite the blaze that burns the whole house.

you are some kind of sea I could sail for a lifetime.

I'm a little bird,

slow and startled,

ready to fly,

but quiet in song.

listen for my heart,

it is true.

listen to my heart,

it sings you.

lost bird.

sat under the moon and near the fire tonight.

seven days.

and the intention to be true; to sit in the field of my heart.

received medicine today to ease the aching; to reconnect the spirit.

and there had been a sort of fracturing.

now mended and mending.

I am tired like a tree that has stood through generations of winter; I have carried so much freezing weight.

let me rest.

that I ran and got lost, that I cried out and collapsed,

flailed and wailed,

spun like a storm of sand and hail;

I danced and gave you back the things you know.

every time I say love,

I mean other things, too.

and a full circle bends and loses the shape it needs to soar.

there is no simple road to walk.

there is no straight line to say what I mean.

to ask for an open, clear sky; this is true and simple.

but to say goodbye,

is the effort to count every drop in the ocean.

voice.

what is this tangle in my gut?

my voice. my words.

why regret a moment of this?

why fear?

so, remain still and allow the twisting and turning.

Watch with wonder the way you become your own illusion.

it is like wind.

or clouds.

nothing stays the same.

your thoughts. your words. your beliefs or ideas.

there is no stone that makes this permanent.

trust yourself.

one word at first.

trust it enough to bear its own weight;

to walk and meet the open field or dark wood.

reclaim the song

that lies still and lifeless, still

smoking with hope.

breathe it back to being

and blaze.

no thought or speech defines or designs us.

we are animals in motion.

a true heart, sincere and brave, is

all.

it is all.

What is the wild and instinctual nature?

"to establish territory, to find one's pack, to be in
one's body with certainty and pride regardless of the body's gifts and
limitations, to speak and act in one's behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw
on the innate feminine powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one's
cycles, to find what one belongs to." Clarissa Pinkola Estes

.

goodbye to my father, Si Houshang Azar. May you be at peace, without suffering, without fear. May love hold you and set you free.

eulogy

a pink winged bird flew across my eyes

and the rain danced down, but only for a moment.

my hand was a small universe away from yours,

your body now a thought unspoken,

unfinished, unsaid

and silenced.

she sings with such sorrow.

I would crawl inside that bird and fly far and farther, weeping.

maiden, hear a maiden's prayer!

life is short and precious and holy

and the time is done.

Here I am, still holding up my end of the rope, pulling harder,

and your end spills and tumbles into the light burden of

air and emptiness.

her voice is cutting me thin and mournful.

I would bear these wings to feel the weight of sky, to

soar into the storm of sadness

and howl like the wilderness of this life.

maiden, hear a maiden's prayer!

ave maria

ENGLISH LYRICS TO AVE MARIA per wikipedia
(Based on the poem "Hymn to the Virgin" by Sir Walter Scott which was a portion of his Epic Poem "The Lady in the Lake")

ELLEN'S DRITTER GESANG

Ave Maria! maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden's prayer!
Thou canst hear though from the wild;
Thou canst save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,
Though banish'd, outcast and reviled -
Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;
Mother, hear a suppliant child!
Ave Maria
Ave Maria! undefiled!
The flinty couch we now must share
Shall seem this down of eider piled,
If thy protection hover there.
The murky cavern's heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer,
Mother, list a suppliant child!
Ave Maria!
Ave Maria! stainless styled.
Foul demons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted haunt exiled,
Shall flee before thy presence fair.
We bow us to our lot of care,
Beneath thy guidance reconciled;
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,
And for a father hear a child!
Ave Maria.

si.

si houshang azar...

goodbye.

august 7, 1936 - october 11, 2010

goodbye dad. may you be free from suffering, may you know peace, may you be happy

49 days.

7

in an hour, there will be a week.

and where do you wander and what wind is blowing you

now?

I sat in the Himalayan restaurant, Kathmandu, with my friends,

and something about me stayed familiar, but so much else

has changed.

Surrounded by thangkas and pictures of Mount Kailash; the Buddha and Shiva and Kali

and a lotus flower,

all inside me is held with a sense of welcome.

I am able to bear the weight.

and then, just as sudden as a Florida storm wears out all the wet heat with wild rain and dramatic lightning,

I am drenched in grief; holding their hands across the table and crying without apology.

Grief is a special kind of weather.

I spent this morning, home at last, reading 'The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying' and now I am setting the intention for these days you are journeying, blowing to and fro,

to love.

All force of thunder or earthquake or seismic rift is postponed the 49 days; I set my heart to love.

You are held with compassion, love and blessing.

I am a rooted tree with singing things flying to my branches.

I celebrate the sky and all the gifts of living.

May you be free and free from suffering; may you be happy and know the causes of happiness.

May you not be distracted, but held and guided and protected.

------------

I am all kinds of weather.

a still lake

reflecting the golden light of autumn.

the trees are giving up their leaves.

colors are spilling all around me.

the earth is loud with death.

----------------

my hand is open and inside, if you look closely,

is a prayer.

it's written by memory and spoken like silver catches the sunlight.

it dances.

and from this shock of movement arises

answers.

complicated grief.

if I am not writing to an audience,

I am writing freely.

today I spoke at my father's burial.

since then I have been twisted into knots with anxiety and panic and swirl.

My voice demanded sky, but after flying, it has punished me severely.

I stood and shook, one hand on the American flag draped on my father's casket.

I spoke through shaking and tears.

I said "i love my father"

I said "it comforts me to hear how kind he was to people, how much he was loved and that he loved people. how generous he was."

"through complicated grief, i say...I grieve because I did not experience these kindnesses. i do not know this part of the man. I hope one day to feel it, to know it. to feel love from him. for now, I grieve. but, i will say this : i love my dad"

i sat and immediately felt like i would die. the earth would open up and swallow me, god willing.

I felt separation, shame, guilt, blame, anger.

the rest was a blur.

As he was interred, I placed a single red rose on his vault and told him I love him, bless him and wish him peace. Go to the ancestors and be joyful and know love.

then, I ran.

I just walked away and away and away.......

I folded and cried and called to anyone who loves me, called to the Goddess herself, to please come....let me be held, loved, forgiven, guided. I railed at the sky, curled at the gravestones, wept and waited for a sliver of solace. The clouds greyed, but the rain refused to fall.

I felt regret for speaking. fear for speaking. terror for speaking. for speaking what I spoke. for not having arrived at a more tidy place of forgiveness and love and peace. I felt storms in my soul as I heard people talk about his greatness. I felt grief for not knowing that. I felt anger for not knowing that. I felt guilt for not knowing if it was my fault for not knowing him. am i too sensitive? did I get all of this wrong? there is a distance between me and the rest of the gathering, the rest of my family. do I carry all of this on my own? they tell me they have resolution, peace with it. where am I? where have I gone?

After speaking, what little ground I had gained, has fallen through. I am turbulent and tormented right now.

run. run. run.

there is no where to go.

my father is gone. all chances to mend and forgive and be a better person are gone.

have I fucked up this whole opportunity?

am I selfish?

am I so sensitive that I can't recover from a lifetime of fear at the moment of death?

somewhere in me, there is a truth that understands why I could not let it go so quickly.

it's the paradoxical part of me that knows i have to walk the whole road to get to this, not just skip to the ending.

it has to count.

it has to be real.

for now, i am swallowed in guilt and confusion and loneliness. I just don't know where to be.

it is terrible fucking pain.

si

dear loves,

I wanted to write to let you know that we buried my father today. he passed away on Monday evening, October 11, 2010. I was not able to be there. His passing had been imminent for some days, my bag was packed to leave the next morning, but I was not with him when he left. My sisters, La and Li, were each holding his hands and told me that he seemed peaceful, happy, ready...as he left.

My relationship with him was a complicated one. He was, indeed, a complicated man. The grief I experience is complicated. I have been here in Florida listening to the people in his life speak about his abundant kindness, generosity, brilliance, intelligence, sensitivity and compassion. My grief is tumbled in the starkly contrasting experiences I have had with him. I have not found a place to land. I do not recall this kindness or compassion.

fuck it.

I just can't write about it right now.

gone.

wesley chapel, fl.

been here now, what? 2 days? yes, 2 days.

there are 10 of us staying in this house, my uncle Farhad's house.

I am too wasted and tired to write much, but all happens so fast I don't want it all lost.

last night, the 5 of us gathered. The Azars.

all sisters and mother, in tears and process.

I witnessed the absolute gorgeousness of my family, fell in love and all at the same time, felt so alone.

Grief tore through me like a tornado, pulling out my floor boards and splintering my beams.

Who was this man?

Death. the chilling terror in my soul.

Grief. Paradox.

contradiction.

Today, we met with a lawyer and a financial advisor..settling the business.

Strange. full of tears.

And, hearing stories and testimonials about how REMARKABLE a man my father was, how brilliant, how KIND, how GENEROUS..."he went out of his way to be kind to people"

I'm staggering with grief.

tomorrow is the burial. I can barely breathe tonight.

there were plans in play for funerary rites, rites of passage; and now we will postpone until November.

Will I have the resource and support I need by then?

There is a tremendous mixture of grief, terror and surrender right now.

strange.

oh, I pray for protection, support, grace and love and MIRACLES.

11 october 2010.

dad passed away last night around 10 pm or so.

I'm on my way to Florida in a few minutes; driving with mom and mickey.

I don't want to go.

That's what my body says.

I'm afraid.

I want the comforts of home.

I want to sleep curled up with Ursa and Luna and

just have everything feel normal and easy.

I'm sad.

I'm afraid.

I suppose those are normal things to feel at a time like this.

thread.

he wished that you would see the light I've become, if for a moment,

before you go.

that you, with all your influence, for better and for worse, are part and piece of the

shimmering.

in dark and weighted earth, crushed and driven into a depth within a depth,

this sun so bright has emerged despite of it and, only because of it.

this paradox of what we give by taking; what we grow by neglect or misuse;

that onlyness of diamond arrives in no other way but by darkness.

we are only recovered by our mining.

it is the kindest prayer i've heard.

and it is the thing I hold to the most.

As you empty from this life, I stand away from your steps. Your path is your own and I am not

meant to interfere.

but, dear and feared father, know this...my light burns bright and true and I am proof of the legacy of miracles. I am the difference a choice makes. I sit in my heart and grieve the loss of you, the never knowing you, the pain of you. I sit in my heart and grieve the loss of you, the love of you.

I stand on the summit of the climbing and sing to you and my ancestors; I choose life. I choose love. I choose joy.

This is the new inheritance.

contact.

it's best if there is a feeling of loft,

a space above your feet that nears the stars

and a distance no greater than a breath from you to yours.

movement shakes the seas loose.

we collided like clouds in whalesong and

my raw heart cried with the joy of a lifetime of sorrow.

to be lifted away from the weight of gravity, I am,

for a moment,

suspended in release.

a smile urges itself forward and before another hard step comes

there is a melting.

the floor greets me like a sky

and I fall without fear.

I fall without an ending.

I fall, in a circle of swift possibles and plush surprises,

into the next moment of

my life.

o grief, o sorrow

the time is upon us. a heaviness has descended upon my spirit today.

what lightness has graced me as golden thread through dark cloth this past week has hushed and fallen sideways in the small corner of the room

my father lies in between worlds and what he sees, I do not know.

he is leaving.

what hesitations or fears or peace he may carry, is secret to him only.

he is far.

he has been walking the path for the past week, without food or water, without words.

I write this and I stagger with fear.

I will never see my father again.

and the great flood of tears arrives;

a terrible howl scars the silent night

the face of death is haunting.

I am not bedside, I am not holding his hand, I am not near

still, I see and tremble at the hovering point of the final breath.

what does he see?

please let there be light and peace and clarity; freedom from fear and suffering.

please let him walk into a sea of love that embraces and forgives his wounded heart.

my god, this is a complicated mess,

but, in this end....it is my deepest wish that he not suffer, that he be at peace; happy and full of joy.

Let there be angels or devas or dakinis or saints or saviors, but let there be peace and freedom from pain.

Though I am his daughter, and though I have struggled and suffered greatly in my life in largest part because of the severe abuses, abandonings and cruelties borne of his thoughts, speech and deeds.....I still wish for the suffering to cease. Enough is enough.

I called him on the telephone tonight and the hospice worker, Marsha, held the phone to his ear for me to talk with him. "Dad, I love you. I want you to know this. I do love you. It is okay to let go, Dad. I love you."

Marsha returned within a few seconds and told me she feels sure he heard me and understood. I briefly wonder about this. It is a reassuring thing to hear and perhaps its a kindness extended more than an absolute truth; a last and meager gift to offer those left behind by the dying. I am thin enough right now to need it, so I accept it as absolute truth. He heard me and understood.

I shake with grief and fear when I envision him, eyes open and seeing nothing, a remainder of bones and thin skin, a body ravaged and defeated by aggressive cells, his breath vague and labored.

I will not hear his voice again.

I will not see my father again.

I made this call from a parking lot I pulled into on my way home from the Harvest Festival. The festival was nearly an effort for me to attend. I was sad and drawn and disconnected. I prayed and offered gratitude and offered all my offerings of candles, bread, fruit and flowers. I ate food and gathered around the fire and sat under a tree with Mary and let her hold the parts of the story that have silenced me over the last several weeks. I cried sparsely and tried hard to let her soothe me, but could not fully allow it. I shared a few heartfelt intersections with people I know that I love and that I know are trying their best to love me, but I felt so alone and so sad and could only accept that this is just where I am, my own doing or not; apart from the crowd...the family.

I was leaving when I retrieved messages and heard from mom that Dad is in his last hours. Linda is there and he is starting to go. I called Julie and she had a house full of guests; we spoke briefly and I offered the invitation to meet her somewhere but she needed to just have dinner and go to bed. I called Linda in Florida and told her that I love her and want her to know that I am here and I support her. She thanked me and said that feels huge and enough for her. Then, we had a conversation that broke me open in the way that light comes into the cracks; in the way that one knows there are wings of angels surrounding them; the hand of the Goddess on my back; Tara enfolding me. "all is well. all is not lost." It was a conversation of real truth. We shared back and forth that we love each other, we want the other to know that we support each other; we are there. It is hard, it is terrifying, there is grief, there is fear. In this moment, I am not entirely alone. I take a breath and when the call is over, in that random parking lot, stopped zigzag in the spaces, I wail a loud and oceanic grief. Tears spill from my eyes and inside of me the thick steeled walls melt. I am dissolving with the inevitability of these hard facts. My father is dying. now. today. tonight.

Did I say enough? Did I say the right words? Should I have said I forgive him? Should I have flown there? Should I be there now? Should I go there now? What should I do? Is there anything to do?

It is a futile grasp we attempt. Our hands scatter like a shock of birds at the signal to fly. What can I hold onto? What can i do to stop the natural progression of this season? How can I avoid this suffering; this pain? and, of course, we cannot.

And what isn't being said yet, here is the other layers of this complicated mess of a story.

Because now is not the time? Or is it the time?

Everything about everything is relevant right now. Because nothing makes sense; none of this. Why is the grief so great? and, OF COURSE it so great.

It is grief for the entirety of everything colliding in this one potent episode.

Grief. Fear of death. Grief. I will never see my father again. That grief alone multiplies itself and multiplies itself again and again. Grief that I never had the father that I needed; that gave me the innate knowing of my worth, value and rights to be loved. For starters. and that that has contributed to a life and that life has led to this moment where the snake is eating his tail. My father could not and did not give me that; in fact, my father worked almost diligently against that purpose by making sure I got the message that I was worthless, unloveable, invisible, not valuable and certainly beyond hope for a healthy and happy feeling of belonging in the world. This same father, refused my attempts to love him. And though, cognitively, I can arrange the puzzle pieces and see that the embedded truths of worthlessness, et al. were merely projections of a man lost within his own untamed traumatic developments, it is a truth that is difficult to extract from the neuronal pathways of the now, hard road traveled adult that is me. The grief is the disorganization of this nervous system. Come. go. hide. run. fight. choose. don't choose. where should I be? here? here? how should I think? act? what should I ? what? where am I? dissociate...what? where? you love me? you hate me? now? when? I love you? I hate you? You are trying to kill me? you say you love me? you say you don't love me?......confusion. yes. disorganization. yes. this is the belly of the chaos of this grief.

I have been disorganized about where I need to be. Florida? here? talk to him...don't talk to him. forgive him....don't. he loves me. he doesn't love me.

I am most organized when I am at my altar and in prayer about it. Soul to soul talking with him.

Here, it makes the most sense. On a soul level, I am more clarified. I see the ancestral thread. I see the legacy of terror. The cultural divides. The horror of humankind. The disasters of the human heart in chains. The terrible consequences of silence and denial.

Only a generation back, his father; Shanghai, China. My grandfather lost everything. What he began with or what he endured or inherited from his ancestors I do not know. But, he lost his homeland, his language, his family, his friends, his traditions, his food, his clothing, his connections, his name....everything. He left after the Shanghai Massacre, that's what I've been told. This alone is an avalanche of trauma for the soul and body to endure. And then, he lost everything.

This was my father's father. My father carried this unspoken, unresolved devastation. Imagine the rage.

I don't have to. I didn't have to imagine it. I knew it. I know it. I met it every moment of my days from the time of conception to know. It informs my dance in this world.

Now, I am not willing to sit and simmer in the blame of this. There are big questions to consider; larger mysteries, if you will. At conception, I was likely making some choices about where to be and some would say that it was me who contracted for this wild ride. Ok, I'll keep that in my pocket, though I'm not sure I'm committing to it as a hard truth.

and then there is the matter of one taking responsibility for one's own life. A worthy topic to discuss, but also one loaded with paradox and points of view. Yes, we are called to claim ourselves, retrieve ourselves. But, when does that begin. If the divisions begin even as early as in utero and continue through the developmental stages of our growth and we learn that the world and people are dangerous and necessary all at the same time and we are not given opportunities to support a healthier argument against these hardwirings, WHEN praytell and HOW, do we begin the sticky business of reclamation? With what TOOLS or TEMPLATES? If you are a rabbit raised in a den of lions and have never SEEN a rabbit, HOW do you ignite the epiphany of the awareness and knowing of RABBIT?

I am lost again in the comfort of writing.

I say all this to illustrate the point of the disorganized attachment trauma that is operant in the infrastructure in my soul. (the infrastructure that I have methodically and courageously been at work at dismantling via SE, PSM, and a whole lot of other soul retrieving, eyeballs deep in the shit, warrior, not for the faint of heart work)

Another edge of grief. Relevant to all of this. The other end of the snake. Through this hardest time, I am alone. Relationally, I have not managed to arrive at resolution. Here is one place the legacy of trauma is most visible. I do have friends. I do know there are people who love me in a big way and hold me even when I am at arm's length and I bristling with my quills at the ready. For this, I am blessed and grateful. There does exist a reflection of my loveability. But, tonight...in this crucial time, when I crave for the comfort of real live physical embrace, I am alone. The neighbors are fine to wave and adore me from across the street, but in this private yard, with the house and all it's contents turned upside down, I am alone. Again, I am capable of zooming to the grand design of things to trust that alone is exactly where I shall grow the flowers from this particular plot of shit, but the here and now human being, warm blooded mammal of me cries in despair for the severity of it all.

Tonight, as I contend with the dying of my father, the tangle of grief of my self and my family and all the poisonous tentacles of associated emotion......is it too much to ask to be physically embraced and held with love and presence as this unfolds? oh grief upon grief.

There comes a time when I write when it's time to stop because the words just begin to fall off the edges of my thoughts, failing to gather. That time is now. I'm tired. I've been writing for about 90 minutes. I leave this now, reluctantly, for then I enter silence, a quiet house and the imminence of the phone call that is bound to come. And I am alone. But wait, Ursa and Luna are here and they are no small potatoes. They are my blessings and grace. Things are as they are. All of this is in motion. It is happening. There is fear. panic. grief.

Goddess, Oh merciful Goddess..... Tara...please hold me and my father and my family with your benevolent grace and compassion and love. Thank you.

things to do.

Move the body

1. Dance

2. Yoga

3. Swim

4. Run

5. Ride

6. Aikido

7. Hike

8. Play

Move the soul

1. Sing

2. Play

3. Write

4. Make Art

5. Improvise

6. Love

Move the mind

1. Learn

2. Read

3. Teach

4. Sit

5. Listen

7. Wonder

Move the heart

1. Open

2. Heal

3. Surrender

4. Accept

5. Grieve

6. Laugh

7. Laugh

8. Laugh

9. Give

10. Receive

11. Love

1. Love

2-11. Love

12. Stay with the Fire

love you, your family, your friends, your Beloveds, your Ursa, your Luna, your Pea.

all is well.

wish list.

i.

in the wishing time

a coin is thrown

and, near deep the ripples catch

an image

of me inside my own smile,

laughing at the discovery.

I was afraid to love you,

I whisper

and watch the rising wave of tears.

until now.

ii.

underwater

I can hear everything except

sound.

iii.

still,

just like snow becoming rain,

my name is carried in your hand.

and this is the secret that nobody

knows.

we've known each other

and love,

iv.

ever.

warrior.

fire.

and alchemy.

gathered around in a small circle in

celebration and welcoming and honoring my dear friend, Thembi,

here for only a few days before he returns to Africa.

He is now a sangoma and he shares with us his gorgeous wisdom and gifts; he tells us

of the land that is his home, his community, his family,

his new culture.

I am so proud of him; so grateful to call him my friend

someone, too, that I can still fiercely laugh with, dance with and be real with.

true.

and it's 1:30 am, but I want to write about an epiphany.

All the conflict that I feel in my life is the gifted resistance that I need to push my weight through something in my own self that has outworn its use. The pain I feel is my invitation to grow into something more true to who I am.

To bring forth me in all my strength and power.

I have a voice and it is my call to sing it.

This means that all the struggle I have felt within my family and how it stalls me out in the community is here for me to meet. To square off with the ways that I separate myself, shrink myself, speak and think to myself about how I have no room or rights, that I am not valued or appreciated.

It is becoming clearer and clearer that people may be reflecting that back to me (or not) but in order to see that it is always my choice to make.

Nobody can convince me of those faults and designs if I don't believe them.

trouble has been, I've believed them and been wounded by the reflection of living so small and cornered.

I have been my own worst enemy.

Time for this to stop.

I am growing into the best me I can be.

I am living a life that is heart centered and full of joy.

I declare this here and now.

ending of the storm.

non-responsive.

so.

I've spoken my last words to my father.

goodbye. I'm ending the call. I love you, dad. goodbye.

i.

across telephone miles,

a distance greater than the width of my heart.

even seated in the chair in the room,

is a distance greater than a broken, red thread.

it seems clear to me now;

we cannot recover what is lost.

only across the stretch of a prayer is anything like a miracle possible now.

not a miracle to survive and breathe,

for you are tired and far down the road,

but, a miracle to mend.

your mouth no longer finds the shapes of words,

and your mind is a soft and scattering cloud in

a sky looming with rain.

soon,

everything will be wet.

close your eyes and fall into

the dream of the Mother;

She holds you like a feather in the center of her palm.

close your life

like the ending of a storm.

Cease all hail and thunder;

and return to the clarity of sky.

This grief goes unanswered and,

so, this grief goes on.

May there be a witness to the casualties of war; an alchemist of lead to gold.

May the ancestors sing to welcome the

return of the fire to the heart.

May the great love of the world recover and

return us home to

joy.

May the beautiful things inside us be

unafraid to bloom.

yes.

you again.

just like I saw you yesterday.

still moving me the way you did and do.

that's all I can say about it because that's all I have.

It's nothing I can write down; what I'm dreaming.

but, there is work at hand; alchemy.

one foot in the realm of the unknown; death and dying.

one foot somewhere here.

a strangest blend of pain and joy.

trust, i suppose you might call it.

expect goodness.

naturally.

give up the habit of mind.

occupy the space of no mind.

what if all your deepest longings were met?

what then?

say yes to it.

decline.

no highway patrol

besides which, I maintained my speed.

took the advice of the big blue and slowed down and kept myself safe,

got there just in time to be timeless.

a whole day off.

a gift to me, myself and I.

Tub #2 by the river on a cool upper 60's day, fresh with sunshine.

just me....

I brought a good stash of food, a candle, journal, "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying"

and intentions to simply shut up and listen.

For a good 10 minutes I had a fun standoff with a squirrel who was squirrilously atttempting to snipe my tortilla chips or trail mix or guacamole or chocolate or fresh raspberries....(yes, I told you it was a good stash of food)

He squirrely tried to rob me from every angle and I almost felt like rewarding him for his effort, but figured I'd have a full hour of squirrel fun on my hands if I did.

So, I thanked senor squirrelemer for his entertainment, then firmly informed him that the buffet was now closed and he would do well to go climb a tree or something. He threw in a 15 minute break before his next failed heist and then cheerfully gave up.

THEN it was just me.

riverside, warm in the submersion of mineral water...soft and embracing.

the swing of trees in a mild breeze and a dazzling, I must repeat, dazzling blur of sunlight scattering all over the surface of the water. beautiful.

It was mostly an hour of emptying out. I prayed for the right questions and the courage and strength and grace and wisdom and ease to live the answers.

When the hour was up, I sloughed off lazily to my car, taking all t h e t i m e i n t h e w o r l d.

I napped in the back of my subaru. drifted off, but woke to the sound of hard boots walking towards the car. No worries, it was only a couple out for a stroll, pre or post soak. but, I wasn't able to sleep again, so I sort of stared blankly and meditated, quite informally. really, I zoned.

then, I decided to telephone my father. I had called this morning, but he was sleeping. The person I spoke with told me he had had a rough morning of hallucinations. He was tearing the linens off the bed, tearing off his clothes, confused and agitated.

so, it was especially hard to call this afternoon.

but, I did. I know it's not about me right now. I know I have to let him know that he is not alone in this.

His voice was so low, I couldn't make out a word he said. though, he seemed fairly coherent and present.

but, he said he couldn't hear me and so I was talking very loudly into the phone.

I tried very hard to come up with things to say. I'm not a storyteller unless someone asks the right question, so I was just telling him dumb shit about how I spent some time at the river today and threw sticks for my dog who bounces like a kangaroo and I'm just thinking of you and I love you and all that and how are you doing today?

There wasn't a question I could ask him because what questions are there? What did you do today? no.

Do you remember...? no. Nothing future, nothing past. And what the hell is there to tell about his present moment? oh, yes darling daughter, I saw lots of scary people in my room and so I ripped all the sheets off of my bed and then I slept and now I'm talking to you though I can't hear a word you're saying and I don't understand any of it because you see my brain is deteriorating and this saddens me to no end because one thing I've always known to be true about myself, the one reliable fact about myself, is that I'm smart and clever and can think my way around anything, only suddenly, I can't even remember.... what? what? what? and I can't write or read and I think you are speaking, but I'm frustrated and agitated because I hear words, but I can't understand how they should come together and I'm trapped inside this dissolving mind and I'm disoriented and confused and i have no language anymore and I don't understand your language and I thought that my mind, wait, what?

it was hard.

I decided maybe he was agitated by the attempt so I suggested we end the call. Then he didn't or couldn't or forgot to hang up so I was left on the line like some flailing fish out of water. I didn't want to hang up, but I didn't get the impression we were talking anymore. It was unclear. Did I mention it was painful?

I spoke once and he sounded agitated when he said something about hanging up.

I waited for many more painful seconds of silence and then disconnected the call.

I imagined him still lying there, with the phone receiver still in his hand while he drifted off to the maze of his turbulent mindscape. Oh my God, dementia is a horrible horrible thing. I hope that it is not as bad to experience as it is to witness. Oh merciful God, Goddess.....please let it be an easy place for him to be.

It's several hours later and I wonder what he is doing now. I hope he is coherent and engaged in a pleasurable conversation with someone. Or, I hope he is asleep and in his dreams, playing tennis, laughing, dancing, smiling and surrounded by people who love him; people he loves.

Right now, this moment, me?

I am at an utter loss to define what I feel.

I want to scream but it feels like too much effort to summon the energy.

I want to be held. I want comfort. I want support. I want love. I want to not feel so all alone in this.

I don't want to call anyone, because it is a nonverbal support I'm craving.

I want just to fall and be caught. to cry and be soothed.

to just be, and

be okay about that.

No one scared of it or anything.

just that it's normal. I'm alive, human, mammal, animal.

And grief is grief, goddammit,

grief is grief.

pushing through

It’s possible I am pushing through solid rock
in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
I am such a long way in I see no way through,
and no space: everything is close to my face,
and everything close to my face is stone.

I don’t have much knowledge yet in grief
so this massive darkness makes me small.
You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
then your great transforming will happen to me,
and my great grief cry will happen to you.

Rainer Maria Rilke
(Translated by Robert Bly)

prayer for the journey.

Sitting in mediation today. Embarking on the phowa practice.

She is here, immediately.

Tara, benevolence and compassion.

She holds my father in her hand. He is small and frail like a baby bird; delicate.

He cries and is soothed, he curls into the palm of her hand.

and, no matter how many ways I see it, I see it; he evaporates.

He dissolves into a soft mist.

She breathes him in and inside of me there is a sensation of gold and tears; joy and grief.

He is breathed into Her and he emerges, first as tears, second as breath.

He is that wind that is delightful; he is happy.

He is that single tear of Hers that is a daylong downpour for us; he is dancing.

I sing to his heart.

I surrender what has come before and hold my father with compassion and presence.

Now is all there is.

The past is grieved and gone.

Dad, I wish that you be free from suffering and the causes of suffering. I wish that you may be happy and know the causes of happiness. I forgive you. I ask for your forgiveness. I love you. I pray that you feel and be held by the Goddess; that you know you are held, loved, protected, guided and comforted by Her. May you be unafraid as your soul transitions and your body is left to dissolve. May joy and peace and love surround and infuse you with radiance and transcendence. I love you, Dad.