The Color of Agony

“My wails of sorrow

are tormenting my soul” 

(Jalaluddin Rumi, The Love Poems of Rumi)

The grief work I have been privileged to engage over the years has allowed me to bear witness to a rather remarkable aspect of human brilliance. I stand in awe of our ability to bear the pain of agony; in particular, the heart-wrenching pain of sitting vigil at the bedside of a loved-one as they die. Agony is defined as, "intense physical or mental suffering."

All of you who have had a child, sibling, spouse, parent or friend in end-of-life care understand this agony of the mind (and perhaps more accurately, of the soul). Day after day you sit with a loved-one who is nearing the end of life's journey.  You watch their slow, sometimes very painful decline, unable to take away their suffering, but very much bearing it with them. 

“Agony is not something that happens to you.

To agonize is a choice.” 

(Alan Cohen)

This agony is compounded by conflicting desires - we want the person to continue to live, at the very same time that we want their suffering to come to an end. We don't want to have to say goodbye, and yet we are so bone-weary tired from our vigil that we long for it all to come to an end. It is true agony. 

Even so, mothers and fathers, spouses and friends all around the world are today extending compassion (meaning to suffer with) to someone they love. Perhaps Alan Cohen is correct in his assertion that agony is a choice. We do not have to sit, hour after long hour in the hospital or hospice room. We could leave the care of our loved-ones to the nursing staff. Instead, however, we choose to allow mind, body, heart and soul to be infused with the aroma of life's sometimes violent blossoming into eternity. We choose to become immersed in the tears, moans of pain, and heart-wrenching cries for mercy that leaving this world may illicit. 

This is not to say that all deaths are filled with pain, all passings expressions of nature's seeming violence. Some are quiet and peaceful. Some lives ease out of this corporeal experiment as softly as a summer sunrise. This death, though, this bed-side agony-of-the-soul-passing - this one is filled with hurt.

What then becomes of us who sit vigil? When the last breath rattles from the lungs, eyes finally closing in rest, who are we? We are the ones who are forever changed. Something has been taken from us in our experience of agony - we are emptied in ways that only time will give answer to. Concurrently, though, we are filled, we have become more, for we have survived the crucible. 

“Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms

you would never see the true beauty

of their carvings.”
(Elisabeth Kübler-Ross)

The hospital/hospice room is emptied of personal effects; back at home family and friends bring food, kindness, comfort. As evening seeps in you close your eyes in exhaustion... and relief. It is finished. Grief settles upon you, searing and familiar, and your heart, empty and raw, full and overflowing, has been remade. 

What you do in sitting at the bedside of those in their final weeks and days of life is nothing short of miraculous. This vigil reveals you - it shows both the strength and the vulnerability of Love as it pours from your heart. 

Most recently I have been the recipient of the stories of two teenagers whose lives were ended from cancer. Mothers and fathers bore the agony of their children's last days; bore this agony and filled our world to overflowing with the kindness of their Love. Humanity is truly amazing for we are a gift of Light and Love that our world desperately needs. Be the Love that you are... 

I leave the last word to poet, Kahil Gibran:

“Out of suffering

have emerged the strongest souls;

the most massive characters

are seared with scars.” 

(Kahlil Gibran)

The color of agony...

the cost of Love.

To see

not the

pain

but only

the need

not the fear

but only

the

longing

This is

compassion

Weep

Laugh

Pray

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "...we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame... (Romans 5:3-5 )

- From Confucianism: "Whosoever wishes to eliminate completely the sufferings of others through his own sufferings, that is the excellent person." (Book of History 5.9)

- From Islam: "The truly righteous are those who endure with fortitude misfortune, hardship and peril. That is, who are patient in poverty and affliction..."(Quran 2:178)

The Color of Bricks

“A great building will never stand

if you neglect the small bricks.” 

(Ifeanyi Enoch Onuoha)

I spoke with an acquaintance recently who worked as a brick layer for forty years. His hands will forever bear the marks of his trade - rough, iron strong, built for work. His body also has been touched by the labors of trowel, level, and mortar. His joints ache; daily reminders of the passion that filled his working days.

Brick layers are our mentors, for they understand the necessity of patience and precision. Buildings constructed of cement blocks or bricks grow from the ground up, one brick at a time. There is simply no way to hurry the process. Mortar is mixed, levels are checked... and a brick is laid. Then another, and another, and another...

Architecture starts

when you carefully put two bricks together.

There it begins.

(Ludwig Mies van der Rohe)

At the end of the day, on a large project, it may look like very little was accomplished. A few rows, carefully, stacked, topping and tailing neatly finished, and a passerby has no idea what the final outcome will look like. So it goes as Love sculpts our lives; it is slow and careful in its work.

In my service as Grief & Bereavement Coordinator I observe that moving into and through our grief is very much like brick laying. Viewed from a daily, weekly, or even monthly perspective it may seem that very little progress is being made. However, healing from grief is tedious work, for in grief our heart and soul must be tended to very carefully, one gentle brick at a time.

Likewise with parenting. Day after day, struggle after struggle, it may seem that we are constructing nothing more than chaos. But each moment of patience, each gentle response to a child flipping their lid is a brick laid in the construction of a child's life. 

So too with each person we encounter - interacting with patience, openness, and compassion adds one more brick to that person's edifice. They become a little more "finished" as it were, more complete. We walk away, unaware that we have been brick and mortar in the architecture of their being.

“No one has ever become poor by giving.” 

(Anne Frank, Diary of Anne Frank: the play)

In this life we have been granted an infinite number of bricks with which to build, and an unending supply of mortar. The bricks and mortar of our work are the quintessential qualities that grow us as a species - Love, generosity, forbearance, patience, forgiveness... With these materials we build each other up, strengthening foundations brick by slow brick. 

As you go into your day know that you are changing the lives of the people you meet. How you change them depends upon the bricks that you lay. Using the bricks mentioned above beings healing to humanity - healing that is so much in demand in these uncertain days.

I leave the last word to Archbishop Desmond Tutu:

“Do your little bit of good where you are;

it's those little bits of good put together

that overwhelm the world.” 

The color of bricks...

the art of becoming. 

An arch

is

incomplete

until the

keystone

has been set

Every stone

has its

place

Pray

breathe

Be

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law." (Galatians 5:22-23)

- From Confucianism: "Gentleness and goodness are the roots of humanity." (Confucianism. Book of Ritual 38.18)

- From First Nations Wisdom: "My children, listen well. Remember that you are brothers, that the downfall of one means the downfall of all. You must have one fire, one pipe, one war club." (Native American Religions. Hiawatha [Iroquois])

The Color of Grime

“My theory on housework is,

if the item doesn't multiply, smell, catch fire,

or block the refrigerator door,

let it be.

No one else cares.

Why should you?” 

(Erma Bombeck)

I was glancing around the kitchen one morning, from the living room, with the un-revealing grey light of a cloudy morning pouring in. The kitchen looked pretty good - from a distance. No big smudges, stains, drips, or spills screaming to be wiped up. I appreciate my home being tidy, and this part of it at least put me to rest.

Then the light changes. The clouds part, and brilliant sunshine bursts in; or the interior lights are turned on, and suddenly what has just seemed so clean is now glaringly messy. The stainless steel is dotted with fingerprints, the fridge door - let's not get started, and the counter top and back-splash are begging for a damp cloth's caress. 

“Excuse the mess,

but we live here.” 

(Roseanne Barr)

It takes a truly fastidious housekeeper to stand tall when their kitchen lays naked under a bright light. I'm not that person. It all makes me think though of the smudges, drips, and spills that be-spot my being. From a distance, in small doses and at the right moment, I can appear fairly neat and tidy on the inside. Under a bright and revealing light, though, one discovers a different story unfolding.

I have picked up a lot of emotional grime over the years - bits of mud and clay sticking to me. Sometimes it feels as though the tarnish is so heavy that very little of the material beneath shows through. You know how it is - you begin to feel down about yourself, and about life in general. You question your self-worth, your purpose, even your connection to family and friends. 

This, though, is not the end of the story. Come back to the kitchen with me for a moment and step into a cooking space that has not been cleaned for years. An oily-dusty smudge covers everything; something that was once food is cooked and/or dried on the stove and counter top. So what? Does this mean that the stainless steel beneath the grime is not stainless steel anymore? That the granite counter is no longer granite? Of course not.

“We cannot think of being acceptable to others

until we have first proven acceptable to ourselves.” 

(Malcolm X)

Regardless of the grime, the essential quality of that which lies beneath the mess remains untouched. So too with me... and you. The mud and clay that we collect over life does not define us. Underneath the soot of our experiences we are created by Love, for Love, to be Love. We are created from something elemental, and are thus immutable in our essence. 

A little spit and polish is all it takes to make the stainless steel shine once again; it was there all along, just below a little muck. It is the same for us - just below the mud shines the brilliance that is truly you. Take courage, trust that it is there, and do all that you can today to let Love be seen in all that you are and do.

I leave the last word to Nic Sheff:

“As long as you look for someone else

to validate who you are by seeking their approval,

you are setting yourself up for disaster.

You have to be whole and complete in yourself.

No one can give you that.

You have to know who you are -

what others say is irrelevant.” 

(Nic Sheff)

The color of grime...

the doorway to buried treasure.

  

Scrape away

the mud and clay

the grit

the tarnish

the dust

A treasure waits

to be found

this day

Dig deep

look deep

and trust

Breathe

Trust

Laugh

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well." (Psalm 139.13)

- From Confucianism: "Gentleness and goodness are the roots of humanity." (Book of Ritual 38.18)

- From Islam: "Every child is born of the nature of purity and submission to God." (Hadith of Bukhari)

The Color of Inspiration

 “Our chief want

is someone who will inspire us

to be what we know we could be.” 

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

Recently I officiated at a funeral for a man who died from depression. Ironically, while struggling with his own darkness he was a brilliant light for those who knew him. His Facebook posts were filled with encouragement and inspiration. Even so, the light that he shared with others did not seem to filter through the cracks to lift up his own heart.

For whatever reason, there are days that are just hard to get through - too much to do days, grief days, anxious days, fighting the darkness days... just plain old hard days. Like this man recently deceased, we've all faced our share of such days – hunching our shoulders against the stress, our coat wrapped tight against life's storms. We’ve trudged into the morning’s tempest hoping only for survival. And from where does the strength for survival come? 

When I am clinging precariously to the cliff of my hard days I look for a bit of encouragement to keep me going. A kind word goes a long way in bolstering the spirit, in piercing a difficult day's darkness. In fact, I am sometimes taken aback at the power a word of encouragement has to turn the tide. A word of thanks can make one's work seem worth the effort. Reminding someone that they are appreciated can cut through the fog of despair. The simple sharing of compassion may be the bridge that carries us across the seemingly impassable chasm of our struggles.

“If you're reading this...

Congratulations, you're alive.

If that's not something to smile about,

then I don't know what is.” 

(Chad Sugg, Monsters Under Your Head)

On my hard days what I really want is someone who will remind me that Love is within and around me, that I have the strength I need for this day, that storms pass, that I am not alone. When the path ahead appears too steep and rough for my tired feet I look for that voice that knows me deep inside, knows my power, knows the reserves I have not begun to tap. I listen for words that affirm that I can do so much more than I've ever imagined. Life has lots of terribly challenging stuff in it - gut-wrenching-tear-us-apart stuff; but none of life's stuff is greater than Love at work within us.

So - if today is one of your hard days I am telling you that you will make it through. You are filled with gifts and wisdom, enough - more than enough, to keep you going. Take one moment at a time, breathe deeply, and with your head held high - don't quit. 

Look for every opportunity today to be encouraged, to be in-spired (which means to be filled with spirit, with the breath of life). At the same time, as you are filled, offer encouragement - sometimes an innocent word from a stranger is the inspiration that carries us forward. A phone call, an email, a text, a note - just might make all the difference in somebody's hard day. 

I leave the last word to musician, Ed Sheeran:

“Everything will be okay in the end.

If it's not okay, then it's not the end.” 

(Ed Sheeran)

The color of inspiration…

memory of the sun in the darkness of night.

It is a lie

that the sun

is gone

Clouds

have always

been

liars

Because we do not sense it

Does not

Mean

It is not

there

Hold tight

breathe

pray

To Ponder Further:- From the Bible: "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)

- From Japanese Tenriism: "I created you human beings because I desired to see you lead a joyous life." (Ofudesaki 14.25)

- Hinduism: "The Infinite is the source of joy. There is no joy in the finite. Only in the Infinite is there joy. Ask to know the Infinite." (Chandogya Upanishad 7.23)

The Color of Anxiety

“I promise you

nothing is as chaotic as it seems.

Nothing is worth diminishing your health.

Nothing is worth poisoning yourself

into stress, anxiety, and fear.” 

(Steve Maraboli, Un-apologetically You)

You know how it is... the grass needs mowing, something on a vehicle or in the house needs fixing, you haven't visited "what's-their-lips" in a coon's age, the laundry's waiting, your paying job wants you to work overtime, and it feels like you just can't keep up.  

Ever rowed that boat - where keeping everything fixed, cleaned, organized, and attended to takes more than you have in you? Stress builds up, sleep is hard to come by, and every part of your body is screaming at you that you need to breathe and slow down before your ticker blows a gasket.  

Anna and I have sailed these seas off and on over the years. A couple of years ago we asked ourselves a question that stopped the room from spinning for a moment: "will any of this worry matter in 20 years?" Well, some of what we do today will impact the road ahead - the forgiveness that we initiate; kindness to a neighbor; standing up to something that is unjust; the day-to-day care of family and friends; these things are stones cast into the waters of life that create long-lasting ripples.  

Consider though, all of the worry we generate around our day-to-day living. Drive faster becuase we might be five minutes late. Really?! In 20 years that will matter to anyone? We get ourselves all tied up in knots over aspects of our day that have no power to improve our quality of life. There are things that do need to be done to live well, and then there is all the rest that, 20 years down the road, will be long forgotten - dust in the attic of life's memories.  

In our North American hyper-anxiety we purchase things we do not need, work longer hours to pay for these things, and then worry that we do not have time to use them. According to statistics we are wound up way too tight with no idea how to undo our worry. 

“Anxiety is love's greatest killer.

It makes others feel as you might

when a drowning man holds on to you.

You want to save him,

but you know he will strangle you with his panic.” 

(Anaïs Nin) 

Perhaps there is an answer though. We could stop caring about the unimportant bits, and choose instead to be attentive to the rich life that calls to us. This is a life in which care of self becomes the model for care of our neighbor. This is the life in which "new and bigger" takes a back seat to coffee with a friend, a walk at sunset, or a meal with someone who is lonely.  I experience the richness of life, not in the rat-race for more money or more stuff - or for more busyness. I discover abundant life in being present to the beauty of a moment, being aware of the plight of those I meet, using my gifts right now to do what I can to encourage others, to heal our world. 

If you are feeling like the demands of life are eating away at you perhaps you need to ask, "will this matter in 20 years?" and "does this really improve my quality of life right now?"  If the answer to either question is "no" then I'd be inclined to say, "let it go; it's not worth the worry."  

YOU are beautiful, and the world needs your beauty to shine as brightly as it can, for there is only one of you, only one person with your gifts and wisdom, only one who can change the world for the better as you can. So let go of anything that holds you back; be attentive to what is truly of value in your day.  

I leave the last word to Jesus of Nazareth: 

"Therefore I tell you,

do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink;

or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more important than food,

and the body more important than clothes?"

(Matthew 6:25-34)

The color of Anxiety...

suffocation of the heart.

I worried

about

tomorrows

that

might never

arrive

while

missing

todays

that would

never

repeat

Breathe

Listen

Be

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippinas 4.6-7)

- From Sikhism: "Should anyone be victim of great anxiety, his body racked with maladies, beset with problems of home and family, with pleasure and pain
alternating, wandering in all four directions without peace or rest; should he then contemplate the Supreme Being, Peaceful shall his mind and body become." 

(Adi Granth, Sri Raga, M.5, p. 70)

- From African Traditional: "Our Father, it is thy universe, it is thy will: Let us be at peace, let the souls of the people be cool. Thou art our Father, remove all evil from our path." (Nuer Prayer - Sudan)

The Color Of Stories

“After nourishment, shelter and companionship,

stories are the thing we need most in the world.” 

(Philip Pullman)

Once upon a time... These words bear the power to make us sit up and take notice; they evoke an igniting of our imagination. Once upon a time... there was a castle, a distant place, a giant, a child... Down through humanity's long journey of evolution, as far back as cave drawings and oral tradition convey - stories have been the loom upon which the cloth of connection and community have been woven.

Stories have the power to take us to places we have never physically visited. In story we transcend our limitations, expand our potential, and discover both our demons and our brilliance. 

“Stories can conquer fear, you know.

They can make the heart bigger.” 

(Ben Okri)

Jesus, Buddha, and the many teachers who followed them used story to open their listener's hearts and minds. Once upon a time, said Jesus,"There was a certain creditor who had two debtors..." Once upon a time, begins the Buddha, "there was a deer, a bird, and a turtle..." Immediately their audience is taken to new places, envisioning previously unconsidered possibilities. 

One of my great joys in life is the receiving, and holding, of stories from those I encounter along the way. Over and again I am privileged to be taken into someone's world as they share their perspective on life and the roads upon which they have traveled. The telling and receiving of stories is a place without judgment, a landscape in which nothing is required beyond the mutual experience of being immersed in the story. 

“The purpose of a storyteller

is not to tell you how to think,

but to give you questions to think upon.” 

(Brandon Sanderson, The Way of Kings)

Sometimes, though, when someone invites me into their world through the doorway of a vignette, I forget that we are entering a sacred space together. Something in the story might push one of my buttons, provoke a reaction, and suddenly the wonder and mystery of story is rendered powerless as I counter, deny, or argue against the storyteller. 

Perhaps, though, this too is part and parcel of storytelling - that the listener is so drawn into the unfolding saga that they become a voice in the telling. A case in point was an experience at the Sundre Cafe a few weeks ago. Anna and I stopped in for coffee; at a nearby table a group of local men were having their daily dose of java and conversation. Their banter was loud enough for the whole cafe to enjoy. It was stories - of life, politics, hopes, and frustrations. They were weavers, sending the shuttle of story across the loom of life. As I walked out I stopped and chatted for a moment - so powerful was their tale that I could not resist being drawn in.

At the end of the day I close my eyes with a heart and head filled with stories - my story intersecting with the narrative of countless others. I am deeply grateful for stories, in all their forms, for within them I find the space to discover you, me, and this great mystery that is called life. 

So, I have a request of you. If you are willing, share some of your story with me. I will listen deeply, without judgment, and will honor the sacred space that story creates.

I leave the last word to Steven Moffat:

“We're all stories, in the end.” 

(Steven Moffat)

The color of stories...

once upon a time!

When we don't

know what

to say

Story

Lights

the way

The inexpressible

finds

its

voice

Tell

Listen

Breathe

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: " "Therefore the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his servants..." (Matthew 18.23; www.rc.net/wcc/parabl42.htm_

- From Hinduism: "Once, an ascetic who was on a pilgrimage came to a village. Just on the outskirts of the village..." (Source unknown; www.hindujagruti.org/hinduism-for-kids/692.html)

- From Cree legend: "I will tell the legend of the bear. I heard my grandmother tell this one – the one about the bear that lived with a child. This was how she told it." ("The Bear and the Child" Told by Joseph Guanish; www.nationnews.ca/the-bear-and-the-child/)

The Color of Contentment

“Be content with what you have;

rejoice in the way things are.

When you realize there is nothing lacking,

the whole world belongs to you.” 

(Lao Tzu)

As the end of my 50th year peeks over the horizon I find myself oftentimes bathed in a deep sense of contentment. My life is filled with nourishing elements - healthy family, friends, meaningful work, and at this point in July... a backyard filled with flowers of every color. In fact, I can truly say that I lack for nothing.

“I am content;

that is a blessing greater than riches;

and he to whom that is given

need ask no more.” 

(Henry Fielding)

My sense of contentment is, however, hugely counter-cultural. The flyers in the paper, the local billboards, and every bit of social media seek to inculcate a sense of discontentment. In fact, our consumer society depends upon my discontent to fuel its endless drive for economic growth. "Newer and better" beckon from TV and radio commercials, even as the Jones' next door drive up in a shiny new something-or-other. 

“Are these things

really better than the things I already have?

Or am I just trained

to be dissatisfied with what I have now?” 

(Chuck Palahniuk, Lullaby)

I am content. Content to follow my passions, to forgive any perceived wrongs, to be kind, playful, and occasionally when I am tired and hungry - content to be a bit grouchy. I don't feel like I have any energy to be running after the next best opportunity, guru, or thingamabob. I walk down a gravel road with my hound and I am deeply grateful for the whisper of the wind in the fields of barley, billowing white clouds (or more often than not the dark grey thunderheads) overhead, and the incredible beauty that permeates life.

In all of this I am grateful. I have many growing edges, I am far from the person I will someday grow to be; in this too, though I am content. I am okay with me today. That is enough. I do not have the power to end this world's suffering and madness; I do, however, have the ability to make a choice about how I live my life. I will not contribute to the war of endlessly hungering for more. Today is enough for me. 

I leave the last word to the apostle Paul in his letter to the Philippians:

"...for I have learned to be content

whatever the circumstances.

I know what it is to be in need,

and I know what it is to have plenty.

I have learned the secret of being content

in any and every situation,

whether well fed or hungry,

whether living in plenty or in want."

(Philippians 4.11b-12)

The color of contentment...

a deep sigh of peace.

Enough

is

enough

is

enough

You cannot

add

to

already

full

Breathe

Pray

be at Peace

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "Now godliness with contentment is great gain.  For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain[a] we can carry nothing out.  And having food and clothing, with these we shall be content." (1 Timothy 6.6-8)

- From Confucianism: "The Master said, 'In the morning, hear the Way; in the evening, die content!'" (Analects 4.8)

- From Buddhism: "Just as a deep lake is clear and still, even so, on hearing the teachings and realizing them, the wise become exceedingly peaceful. (Dhammapada 82)

The Color of Remembering

“Her ability to use language,

that thing that most separates humans from animals,

was leaving her,

and she was feeling less and less human

as it departed.” 

(Lisa Genova, Still Alice)

Week by week my father, who is in palliative care, is slipping away from me. It is not so much that his body is dwindling, though he is diminished in physical bearing; rather, like a faded photograph, he is becoming blurred at the edges. The mild dementia he experienced prior to breaking his hip has escalated to a near-advanced state. 

When I looked into dad's eyes at our last visit I had to peer deeply to find him looking back. For a moment he would smile and ask something, or sing a line from a song with me, and then the light would dim and he was once again seeing worlds hidden from my limited view.

“I am so small I can barely be seen.

How can this great love be inside me?

Look at your eyes. They are small,

but they see enormous things.” 

(Rumi, The Essential Rumi)

I miss my dad - miss the jokes he would tell, miss him asking how we are all doing. I miss the intelligence and gentleness that shone through his beautiful brown eyes. As I nudge up against grief I feel parts of myself eroding, a weathering of the granite of my being. And yet, at the same time something deep and rich is revealed in the erosion - I realize that the heart of my dad was imperfectly expressed in words, providing only a meager glimpse into the soul behind his eyes. Though dusk falls upon his wakening, a greater light in stillness beckons notice.

Though Huxley (“Every man's memory is his private literature.”) and Gillies (“You only know yourself because of your memories.”) may refute it, I suggest that we are more than our memories. The Love of which we are comprised is not limited to neurons and synaptic pathways, or to the delicate processing of long and short term memory. Love pervades every cell, every molecule, each and every atom that gives us physical presence. We were Love before we were flesh; we will be Love when our atoms have returned to the earth.

All this to say that though dad's memories and general cognition decline, who he is, who he has always been, is becoming distilled. I sit at his bedside now, not to share conversation, but simply to bask in presence, in heart and soul. At an upcoming visit his eyes will no longer be a pathway to the man who helped shape my life; he will have cocooned himself in preparation for a great metamorphosis. He will not be gone, only stilled beneath the gentle mantle of a quiet mind.

Parts of me sorrow for what I perceive to be loss; parts of me rejoice that Love is not confined by the limits imposed by one's body and its warranty. Dad is slipping away, even as he draws nearer.

I leave the last word to author Janet Turpin Myers:

“Was the dementia of old age a blessing in disguise?

No more thoughts.

No more damage inflicted.

No more memories of damage survived.” 

(Janet Turpin Myers, the last year of confusion)

The color of remembering...

letting go.

Grasping water

in my

hands

only

soaks the

ground

Water

grasping me

bathes

my being

Breathe

Pray

Be

To Ponder Further:

- From the Bible: "My mouth shall speak wisdom; the meditation of my heart shall be understanding. I will incline my ear to a proverb; I will solve my riddle to the music of the lyre." (Psalm 49.3-4)

- From Korean traditional religion: "The one that is visible begins from the invisible. The invisible consists of three ultimates, and their essence is infinite." (Chun Boo Kyung)

- From Hinduism: "Now my breath and spirit goes to the Immortal, and this body ends in ashes; OM. O Mind! remember. Remember the deeds. Remember the actions." (Isha Upanishad 17, Yajur Veda 40.15)