Friday, June 17, 2011

Portentous Portals. Powerful Passings.

Portentous portals.  Powerful passings.

Birth and Death.

My friend Rudy died a couple of days ago and my heart cracked open.  I have been so touched by this beautiful man and the sweet love he offered me for so many years.  He was not a close friend.  But he was.  We didn't know each other well.  But we did.  I never spent long hours talking with Rudy, getting to know the intimate details of his life. Nor him mine.  And yet, our souls recognized each other from the beginning, and when our eyes met, we fell in love.  We fell into love.  That's the effect Rudy had on me--I would fall right into this big puddle of love and get soaking wet every time I saw him.  He validated my beingness.  With Rudy, I remembered that I was love.

Rudy was a well known person around town, big in the jazz scene, he played the alto sax, and was a professional photographer.  Everyone loved him.   How could they not?  Rudy had a wide open heart.  Sparkling eyes.  Infectious laugh.  Rudy hugged and kissed people.  Rudy gave big love and was loved big in return.

When my husband texted to ask if I had heard of Rudy's passing I remembered that I had dreamed of him the night before.  I walked into a party and he was there, off to my right with a group of musicians.  Our eyes met and he smiled at me as we exchanged that simple acknowledgement of  friendship.   He had come to say goodbye.  What a gift.  That sweet, sweet man. 

Oh precious one, your presence in my life has blessed me.  I cry, already missing your sweet face and embrace, and that love offering of a smile that bore the fruit of happiness in my heart.

It was Ryland's birthday.  He is one of my son's best friends and was born in one of the bedrooms in my home.  I lit a candle for him and Rudy.  A flame to celebrate Ryland's birth and Rudy's death. 

I'm dealing with my mother's passing.  It's up big for me.  I don't know when she will be gone, but she is going.  I've had two death dreams of her passage.  One by water and one by fire.  Yesterday I went to an audition for a local celebration of death that will happen in October.  Through spoken word I performed my dream of my mother's death by water:

Mother Carry Me, Your Child I Will Aways Be

It was assisted euthanasia.  Like a water birth, and I was the midwife.  Only this was her death.

We were in a large pool in a creek.  The water was low and I was allowing it to fill up, like in a swimming pool, or a bathtub, until it would cover her and take her under.  And I would let her go.  I would stay with her and hold her hand until she went under the water and drowned.

But all of a sudden the water was deep and it took her when my back was turned.
She was gone.  And I wasn't holding her hand.  The water was rough and murky and I couldn't see under it's surface.  I was walking around searching for her with my hands in the water, trying to find her.  But all the while I was afraid that I would find her, her body, floating in the water, dead.

I stepped down into another pool where the water was calm and clear.  I saw her lying there, convulsing and bleeding on the gravel floor of the creek bed.  It was like she was lying in front of the hearth in a living room.  A sacrifice on the altar of her watery grave.

The sight of her scared me at first, seeing her there.  Still alive.  Struggling.  With her blood swirling in the water above her head like a spiraling halo.  I ducked behind a corner to hide so I wouldn't have to witness her death.  But I turned back and went to her.  I couldn't let her die alone.  I reached down and took her hand as I crawled between her and hearth.  It's not so easy, lying on the rocky bottom of a creek bed, holding on to someone you love as they die.

I maneuvered myself in next to her.  And I was holding her hand.  She looked at me.  As our eyes met, I told her, "I found you mama, I'm here."  It's not so easy speaking underwater.  

I held her head in my hands and kissed her as she died.

Mother Carry Me, Your Child I Will Always Be

I miss you mama.  Already.  And you are still here.  I miss every moment I'm not with you.  I regret every moment lost to my inability to be present with you in love.

I love you mama.

1 comment:

Pagan Topologist said...

I don't have anything to say about this wonderful post, but I thought I would stop by and let you know I had seen it.