Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Uses of Sorrow

September 19, 2010

I am suspicious, I must say, of too much of the “positive thinking” trend nowadays, as if there were no point to true melancholy or utter sorrow. I don’t think life can be without them, nor do I think I would want life without them. This is a world of opposites, and you can’t have one without the other, one can’t exist without the other. Buddha calls for the middle path, but there is no middle path without experiencing fully the opposites. These thoughts have been with me in recent experiences of deep grief.

Rilke wrote in a letter to Madame M.R.:
“What you say of your life — that its most painful event was also its greatest — that is, so to speak, the secret theme of these pages, indeed the inner belief that gave rise to them. It is the conviction that what is greatest in our existence, what makes it precious beyond words, has the modesty to use sorrow in order to penetrate our soul.”

I was reading today about initiations in the Mithraic mysteries and other forms of initiation. The intent of these rites is transformation, as from caterpillar to butterfly. To achieve the metamorphosis, the initiate passes through tremendous ordeals, and through them experiences otherwise unavailable ecstasies and wisdom. I believe life works this way.

I don’t invite sorrow, nor do I wish it upon anyone, but when it is delivered I respect it as itself. Sorrow is not a problem to solve but a great power.

Universe as a System

September 18, 2010

I ran into these words by Buckminster Fuller a few days ago, and wish I could ask him to explicate them more on the subject of death.

“You cannot get out of Universe. Universe is a system… Universe is a a scenario. You are always in Universe. You can only get out of systems.”  (Synergetics, p. 85)

If you can’t get out of universe, then where to we go when we die? People think they have answers for this, but do they?

The Unsayable

September 17, 2010

The world is mostly made up of the unsayable. That is why we need poets and artists, the true ones. The dimensions that words can never touch are really what make up our experiences from one moment to the next. The tiniest bit of it is sayable. The rest is not.

I find it painful, somewhat, this isolation of seeing, feeling and experiencing so much that language cannot be a carrier for. As deeply grateful as I am for the tool of language, at this I am moment acutely aware of its limits. Death does trump everything.

Death, the repressed theme

September 16, 2010

Italian psychoanalyst Luigi Zoja wrote in one of his books that death is the most repressed theme of the current century (he wrote this late in the last century), as sex was the most repressed theme of the former century. I was struck by this when I read it many years ago, and since then have watched and observed the truth whereof he speaks.

My friend who just lost her husband experienced an utter and irrevocable transformation of consciousness in one day. Nothing in our lives prepares us well for this, nor is our collective life set up to make space for such an event. Many former and present cultures do this far better than our own. If Nazarita had broken her foot, she could get paid leave from work. With a broken heart and shattered psyche, there is nothing in place in the world of business to account for that such an ordeal requires. There is little to no acknowledgement of it as anything real.

I won’t rant about this aspect as much as I am tempted to. I want to comment briefly only on the profound nature of what I am witnessing with her. She is an extraordinarily professional, competent, talented and artistic woman with a practical nature, who works a high- stress, high design, high powered job. Since her husband John died last week, the last thing she can imagine doing right now is moving at the pace of just the normal world around her, much less at that velocity of her workplace. People rush around her in stores or in traffic while she is standing still, if not literally then definitely metaphorically. What is the point of this pace?,she wonders. Nazarita is fastidious in keeping her home, but says now she likes it when she sees the spiders making their webs, especially around her front door. She thanks them and feels that they are protecting her, their webs will keep bad things from coming in. While in the house she wears a shirt from John’s closet across one shoulder and buries her nose in it while thinking or listening. She speaks about the most simple things of life with utterly transformed perspectives, straight from the heart, like a sage. Her wit is as intact as ever, and we have laughed heartily, yet the movement goes quickly from there into moods of sincere reflection and inquiry.

You can get a three-day reprieve from work so you can snap out of it. She looks at me in disbelief. In three days you haven’t even begun! I feel there is needed collective imagination to be stimulated and applied that might help bring humanity, intelligence, consciousness and deep appreciation for what death is and the processes necessary to honor it’s place in life. I am watching and learning, and hoping to help more in this.

Only a poet

September 15, 2010

In the apartment of my friend who died, being with his shocked and grieving wife, the experience is too big for me to find words. I live it to the poet…

Even your absence
is filled with your warmth and is more real
than your non-existing.
-Rainer Maria Rilke

Sur-reality

September 14, 2010

I’m in Seattle now, having traveled through space and time to arrive in a place where life and death are both fully present, the apartment of my friends John and Nazarita Goldhammer. One week after his death she’s showing me their house, everything here reflecting absolutely the life that they shared with such joy. But he’s not here. She is.

On my way here I spent hours reading Dreamgates, by Robert Moss. In the past month I have committed very much time assisting with a conference in which he is a featured presenter. (It will be taking place in Laurel Springs, NC, Oct. 14-17. www.journeyconferences.com, in case anyone is interested). I’ve been wanting to catch up with his writing in preparation for working with him soon, so this just happened to be the book that I brought. I couldn’t have consciously chosen any reading more appropriate for this journey. Moss is a traveller to the dreamtime, where the living and the dead, the human and the non-human live, share being, and communicate. He speaks fluidly and convincingly of these subtle realms we inhabit; realms in a dimension little understood by the modern Western mind. Reading of these landscapes and how they operate all the way here, seeing my friend of 30 years and feeling utterly outside of time, like we’ve never been apart, and then seeing their home in this location for the first time, seeing and feeling John fully here but not here – this is surreal.

It’s poetic. It’s true. It is vivid. It is mysterious, but not really. It is obvious, but not really. I am in the dreamtime, waking time, no-time, alternate spaces. Nazarita bought John’s favorite bread so I could try it. As we ate it and she told me a significant story the bread “jumped” off the kitchen counter, landing loudly on the floor. Here we are.

Following the Heart

September 12, 2010

I’m thinking of the French word for heart – couer. And the word courage, which comes from this root. And the lion as a symbol of courage. It takes courage, like the lion, to follow the heart. One of the most powerful and memorable dreams I have ever had was of a tiger who was giving birth to her baby tiger through the chest. She laid at my feet so I could help her deliver, and I heard the words, “the birth canal of the heart.’

The heart is fierce and loyal to her values and truths. There are so many considerations in life that distract from heart. I am surrounded by them even as I sit at home tonight. To live from the heart first and foremost requires vast instinctual courage. I am following my heart to Seattle tomorrow to be with my heart friend, to tend together to her shattered heart over the loss of her beloved husband, to listen to his “fathomless heart” as my friend described it, and to find strength of heart to carry on.

We all need it, all of us in the world need it.It takes great heart and courage to move like the lion.

Love and Lust

September 10, 2010

Tonight I had a conversation with some good friends about this subject, love and lust. I stand up for the idea of love, enduring, undying love — a divine thing that captures the soul and enhances everything about it; while some I know, and I say this without judgment at all, believe this energy to be a biological thing that draws us in, entraps us, and then leaves us without its glow, stuck in a situation. At the end of my marriage when circumstances demanded that I fall out of love, I thought “How do you do that? I can’t fall out of love with the father of my children any more than I can fall out of love with a my children. It’s unnatural and can’t be done.” I began to experience my being in love as a mental illness, something I had to find a cure for. I saw people in love and wondered if they were sick, like me. I still wonder about this.

I profess nothing. I raise only the question. I see love between people and I do believe in it. My friend who just died was definitely in love with his wife of 30-some years, I heard glorious traces of that in every conversation we ever had. I just now started to continue to list references of real love I have witnessed in others and that I feel sure of, but the list would go on too long. So I leave the reflection at this. Romeo and Juliet were in love, but died young. Macbeth and his wife, more complicated. Story, history and life give us endless reflections and questions about this connection, but no final answer.

I sat on a porch tonight in Appalachia talking about the eternal question. I made my case. I believe, but I don’t know. That is kind of scary.

When Doubt Serves

September 10, 2010

Days that crush the positive outlook we attempt to cultivate come – what? – like a devil wanting us to lose all heart or like an angel to dispel illusions? Doubt in oneself can be the worst enemy. But it isn’t always.

Rainer Maria Rilke says that doubt can “become one of your best servants — perhaps one of the most intelligent of those who help you build your life.” Confidence is imperative; doubt is wise. The balance between the two is enlightenment, I think. This I seek.

“He Never Said a Bad Word About Anybody!”

September 8, 2010

These are words spoken by the devastated wife of my friend who died suddenly and absolutely unexpectedly just four days ago, John Goldhammer. Nazarita, his wife, spoke in shocked disbelief after a sudden massive heart attack came without warning to this gentle man who was so optimistic and enthused about his life. I had just spoken to him at length the day before his death and he was in bright spirits and good humor.

John and Nazarita have been friends of mine for more than 30 years, though the chess board of life has moved us around many times to a variety of locations. In this past year, John, who wrote the wonderful book Radical Dreaming, and I have been talking on a weekly basis helping each other with our dreams. One week we worked on my dreams, the next week on his. He has been an invaluable source of strength, insight, encouragement, humor, wisdom, support and heart in my life. And in all of the time I have worked with him I can second what Nazarita said about him the morning after his death, “He never said a bad word about anybody!”

In his honor I want to challenge myself to live this way from now to forever. And I want to invite anyone else who feels inspired, to do the same. This committment can be the John Goldhammer Memorial of harmlessness, optimism, compassion and goodness.