I struggle to precisely describe the relationship.  She's my best friend, sister, spiritual journeyer, soon-to-be aunt to my children, life partner. Her mother passed away last week, and it has been one of the hardest things to watch Jessica have to endure -  from the initial shock at the beginning to the disappointing lack of ritual at the end.  Our country deals with death in such a sterile, un-spiritual manner.  The body disappears and we are left floundering to find closure on our own.   She needed something more, and I had an idea.

Jessica has something ferocious and mystifying about her.  Her blood runs purple with royalty, pumping hard and fast.  Her body cannot contain her.  She deals with her pain honestly, without apology or self-consciousness.  As I watched her address the crowd of people present to honor the life of her mother, I marveled at the poise that comes only in the wake of mourning.  She has been cleansed by fire, brightened by torrents of tears, renewed by the support of others.  I nearly had to cover my eyes for her blinding presence. It feels too sacred, almost embarrassing, too private and pure a thing to witness someone genuinely just BE, especially when that particular state of being is shrouded in the black of mourning.

Her husband spoke words at the end that still send shivers through my bones.  He broke through the polite composure of memorial services, and instead lead each individual soul - one by one- through a battle cry, each of us into the wellspring of our own personal grief, not only at the passing of Denise, but also the confrontation of each human with the notion of death.  

I've said many times that there is no way to mourn death appropriately.  But somehow I feel that, if there were, it would look exactly like how Ben and Jessica do it.  Soulfully, honestly, fiercely, courageously embodying the pain and letting it wash through them instead of living in denial or allowing themselves to be comforted by trite phrases and empty promises of an afterlife no one really knows exists. 

During the personal sharing of Denise's family and friends, I composed a memorial of my own.  I am not one prone to public speaking, but I am one inclined toward the permanence of words.

Denise's passing seems particularly poignant to me as I anticipate becoming a mother.  I knew her as a mother, and have always revered and deeply analyzed how she managed this.  Jessica spoke highly of her, loved spending time with her, daily connected with her via phone calls, and aspired to be like her.   I wanted to see the formula she used to produce such a sustainable mother/daughter relationship.  I assumed they got along because she and Jess were like each other.  That was not the case - it was Denise and I that had more in common personality wise: Type-A, very organized, deeply mysterious and introspective.  That a woman like her could exist having created a woman like her daughter encouraged me so.  For instance, I genuinely thought that in order to be a good cook, I had to emulate Jessica's kitchen personality.  Denise taught me otherwise - and like so many people said this past weekend - she helped me realize the potential inside of myself.  Never doing it for me, only nudging gently and pouring me chardonnay, but still - I love to cook now because of Denise Green.  Specifically, she taught me to drink while I cook.  Four years ago, I cooked my first soup and all the while sipped a martini through the process, somehow trying to imbibe Denise's spirit itself.  Now, each meal begins with the glorious sound of a Chardonnay bottle popping open, a pouring of one glass, and the enjoyment of her presence standing right behind me, imbuing my spirit with cuisinal courage.  For the rest of my life, each time I open a bottle as I prepare to chop, dice, and julienne, I will commune with her spirit as I cook for my own family - the far-reaching effects of which no one can fathom.  Since food is essential for survival, it seems inconceivable to continue living without Denise, the one who feed us.  However shall we manage...

As she lived well, so shall she be remembered well.  Cheers to you, DMG.

* Abalone = Emotional protection/balance, Barn Owl = wisdom, seeing hidden things, associated with the underworld, Sage = used for restoring personal energy field, depression, and the expulsion of negativity.

More photos here. 

Joel and I recently completed a 7-week series of birth classes based upon the book "Birthing from Within."  The instructor said something that I've been musing upon.  She said that in labor, you will be tempted to just lose it...to forget your breathing, your pain-coping practice, your mental endurance required for full relaxation during rest periods.  She then said, "So just lose it."  Something about this notion of fully embracing the fall into the abyss resonates true in my being.

There is no appropriate way to birth a child.  There is no appropriate way to mourn the death of your mother or mitigate a divorce or face terminal cancer.  All there is is the bottom dropping out, our own personal dark cavern of fear that we all must face, and face alone.  No one can bring this child into the world for me.  No one can mourn Denise for Jessica.  Maybe we should stop trying so hard to grasp at the sides of the cave, to stop desperately reaching for that hand of help.  Maybe we should stop looking all around us to see ourselves in other's eyes.  Maybe in this dank space, there is no welcome mat for the ego.  We are all degraded to our primordial selves through pain and grief.  Why is it when we feel like screaming that we instead gently weep?  Why is it when we feel like scratching out the eyes of our soul, instead we make to-do lists?  Why, in god's name, when we feel like dying, do we politely sip our hot tea by the fire?  We keep ourselves so tightly wrapped up in all these civil emotions and try to sell others on our facade of health and inner peace - even in the hopes that we will believe ourselves to be evolved beyond primitive despair.  Perhaps, in the imagination of our souls, what we really need is just to fucking lose it.  To scream bloody murder, to scratch and scratch until we bleed, to die - bit by bit as we fall into the well of our worst fear coming true.

Wouldn't it be a relief to hit that bottom and feel solid ground again, despite our nursing broken bones from the fall?  It is only in being at ones lowest that we can, in any possible way, forage a way out.  There are beautiful organisms that can only thrive in wet, dark conditions.  There are things we will never discover about ourselves and others if we spend our lives avoiding and repressing the realities of pain.  Once we stop being so damn afraid of the engulfing blackness, then, and only then, can we realize that our eye-sight has keenly adjusted and we can see more clearly than ever before.  That sight will no doubt reveal that you are indeed strong, that you are humbled to being a collection of particles, and that there is great comfort in ultimate release.  That sight will be the very thing we need in order to climb out of the abyss.

Additionally, when we see our loved ones bordering on their own soul-drop, we must let them.  I will keep watch at the entrance to ward off predators.  I will yell down often to encourage your return, for of course the abyss is no place to stay - there is more life to live once you emerge.  But I refuse to advise you to avoid your fears.  I will let you go and trust in your strong soul to give you what you need.  Once we stop trying to save others, keeping them from doing what they need to do because we ourselves have the greater need of being helpful in crisis, then will we know our true substance as friend, wife, mother, daughter, teacher, human.

That substance, fellow humans, is a gorgeous, miraculous mix of hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon atoms.  That this amalgamation can have the awareness of self, much less the evolved ability to endure and grow from personal suffering, blows my mind.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well 

That, for all they care, I can go to hell, 

But on earth indifference is the least 

We have to dread from man or beast. 

How should we like it were stars to burn 

With a passion for us we could not return? 

If equal affection cannot be, 

Let the more loving one be me. 

Admirer as I think I am 

Of stars that do not give a damn, 

I cannot, now I see them, say 

I missed one terribly all day. 

Were all stars to disappear or die, 

I should learn to look at an empty sky 

And feel its total dark sublime, 

Though this might take me a little time.” 

― W.H. Auden

No, I am not speaking of the ominous villain in Doctor Who (I love you if you get that reference), but I am speaking of the strange periods of silence I've recently endured.  Times in life where one desires no company other than a spouse, no conversation other than with beautiful films, and more sleep than most people dream of.

Perhaps this silence is due to my being sick for almost 9 days now.  I've left the house only 3 times in that stint, and just when I thought I was getting better, I woke up this morning with what I can only guess is a different cold.  How festive.

Despite feeling strange, solitary, and rather disabled, I've been enjoying the energy, the Feng Shui, of being in a house that has been lived in so well.  I've cooked several amazing meals, had countless cups of tea, snuggled with Joel any old time I wanted, stewed cider, and baked an apple pie.  I suppose I am saying that I am thankful for being ill in that it has demanded sleep and nourishing food and soul-giving solitude.  I am thankful for a body.

Let me explain.

The Universe and I have been at odds lately.  We've been in discussion about endings.  I am fighting this impossible battle between the biological need to survive and the inevitable truth that we all die, and must.   The human race will most likely be entirely wiped out in the next million years, with nothing to offer the cosmos or other lifeforms elsewhere (except The Voyager, Joel comforts me).   Moreover, I suppose the real struggle is that I cannot control either. I wish I could be obsessed with beginnings, but instead I've been struggling so much with the fact that life ends.  Just when bliss introduces herself to me with a jarring handshake, she slips through my fingers because I think of when it will end. I am trying to accept that this issue has been brought to me to examine and chew on, trying to see its essence instead of its shadow, but I have a distrust of the temporary.

Simply stated, I am trying to reconcile death with life, and it seems everyone has some sort of lovely answer for how they have arrived at their own particular version of peace. I suspect that most deal with it by ignoring it, or praying a lot, or distracting themselves with the busyness of life.  I bring up this comparison to others because I believe our notions of personal happiness are based largely on how we see others living and what they chose to pour their precious lives into.  I am clinically depressed, so it makes sense to me that I would wonder why everyone is so darn happy all the time, expressing how they find certain weather patterns, particular bowls of fruit, or long vacations nothing but entirely rewarding, afraid to express anything negative because of what that might mean, or what others might think.  In the end, when we do not take the time to express all parts of life - the good and the bad, and express both with tact and love - I feel we are performing a great disservice to those in our care, who listen to us and glean inspiration from us.  If we are only expressing good, those who feel badly about life will feel ashamed that they can't just feel good like so and so does all the time.  This is a complete rabbit-trail, I might add.  All of this to say that it often feels as though I am the only one thinking about the inevitable end of the Universe, and balancing the desperate desire to stay alive with the intellectual acceptance of death.  Of course I'm not.

Back to feeling thankful for the human body I have.

Therefore, in the midst of this very confusing mental dialogue, I find it especially rewarding when I am made newly aware of the awe of the human body, decaying and fleeting though it be.

10:04 pm

10:33 pm

It's nearing 11:00 pm, and I'm just now seeing black.  

Summer nights in the PNW are a phenomenon I store away for future memories.

When my life has long been spent,
and I begin to feel the once innumerable hours of my existence exact their quantitative numbers upon my ticking heart,
  there are few things I request as I leave this planet.

I want to feel Joel's comfort through my hand,
I want to see my dearest kin's faces as they wrestle with the paradox of pain and peace,
 and I want to remember the night sky as I saw it tonight.

Life as one long, gorgeous day.