Death and Beauty

Last Thursday I checked my voice mail to discover that a beautiful being, Milissa Ann, had died a couple of days earlier. I met Milissa in Wimberley not too long after we moved to Texas, and she was part of our community for several years. After she moved to Santa Fe we lost touch, though I would see her occasionally when she came through town.

When I heard the news of Milissa's passing I realized that I had been thinking about her a few days earlier, wondering how she was doing. Apparently many people who knew Milissa had the same experience; none of us knew she was in the hospital, but despite the distance we felt her through the web of our connection.

And now I find myself thinking a lot about a woman that touched many lives, but that I hadn't seen in over a year and had no physical connection with. In her death I feel her strongly. While her family and friends grieve, she feels like pure light, a twinkle moving freely, released of her body's struggle. 

Saturday night was her memorial service in San Antonio. Her close friends Kim, Arielle, and Trisha attended, while a group of us danced barefoot at Toci. Milissa loved to dance, so it seemed fitting to bring her into our evening. I went to her Facebook account and we kept her photos up on my computer screen, next to a picture of Rachel, another young, vibrant woman in our community who also died suddenly (in January in a car accident.) We lit a candle for them both, and I giggled at one point to look up from my dancing to see Milissa and Rachel's photos hanging out together with a mango margarita in front of them. Perfect.

At the memorial service someone read this poem:

I'd like the memory of me

to be a happy one,

I'd like to leave an afterglow

of smiles when day is gone.

I'd like to leave an echo

whispering softly down the ways,

Of happy times, and laughing times,

and bright and sunny days.

I'd like the tears of those who grieve

to dry before the sun,

Of happy memories that I

leave when life is done.

Milissa, you have left many bright memories in our hearts, and a reminder to choose to love love love as fully as we can, knowing that our time here is precious.

Here is a Facebook post from Kevin Anthony Flores, that again shows how we are all connected in this web of life and death, and that while the physical form is fleeting, love is eternal.

... In my minds eye I saw the beautiful face of a good friend, beautiful smile of an angel, shining black hair cropped short to frame her face like the petals of a rose… And her eyes!  Big deep brown glistening eyes that seemed to caress my entire being.  She seemed to be saying hello and goodbye all at once — all at once.  My mind slipped back in time as memories superimposed themselves over her face; our first meeting and the beautiful feeling of knowing that we had always 'known' each other, the camaraderie of a sister found, siblings of Spirit wrought in infinity, such a beautiful feeling.  That day that we met we shared intimate stories about ourselves, dear ideas and thoughts about life and death, and the things that dreams are made of.   I gave her a ring; a silver ring with a mexican fire opal set in a swirling base and told her that if she ever needed me or just wanted to feel known, and loved, that all she had to do was hold it and think of me.

The memory dissipated and all that I was left with was the beautiful face, smiling, the eyes radiating hope and gentle passion for life in all its expressions, even the expression of pain, sadness and yes, even death.  I'll never forget those eyes.  And in those few moments of connection I felt good, I felt happy.  I felt as though she had said hello and goodbye all at once but also to say: '"never stop, keep on loving, and keep on dreaming.'"

And I opened my eyes and realized yet again, in a very definitive and decisive way, that I was dreaming awake.

I came home that evening to find a message waiting for me to inform me that a very good friend of mine had died.  Her journey in life was challenging, yet she was always smiling for me, she never complained about her journey, only recounted the facts and the things she was thinking about them, I do not doubt that she was sometimes sad, or angry or in pain, I do not dishonor her humanity, yet she always rose above it, usually with a gentle hug and a smile.  And even though it saddens my heart  that I may never again be able to receive a hug from her, or hear her sweet voice, I smile.  I smile in the memory of the knowledge she shared with me, to smile, always to smile even in the face of humanity's greatest challenge; physical death.  I know that she is dancing with stars at this very moment!

Her name was Milissa Ann and it was her face that I experienced on the rocks at the Giant's Causeway that afternoon.

Blessings to you, Milissa.

I just realized: the last photo below I took in Taos on the day Milissa died. It was the most beautiful, clear, vibrant rainbow I've ever seen.... Now I know why!

Finding Balance with Technology; Choice vs Addiction

Early morning, Austin airport. I popped open my computer to send a couple of emails before I boarded my plane to Santa Fe.

"Oh, you are on the computer!" she said. I looked up to into the smiling face of a woman sweeping under my table. "My husband lives in Dubai, and whenever you comes home he is always on the computer. It drives me crazy!"

Sometimes a comment from a stranger is just that. Sometimes a comment from a stranger is actually the voice of spirit tapping you on the shoulder to pay attention.

I paid attention. I stopped mid-email and gave her my full presence.

She shared how her husband spent all of his time shopping on the computer. How she once deliberately pulled his computer out of the car and left it at home when they went on a vacation to Galveston, and how when he found out his computer was not with him he borrowed his daughter's computer. How even if he had been gone for months, when he came home his focus was completely hooked.

As she spoke I watched her body language and energy. She was frustrated, and open-hearted and loving. I felt laughter under her words, a sense of feeling incredulous that anyone would prefer a machine to a personal interaction. I realized I would much rather play with her than with my computer.

And the second she left, I went back to my email, but this time with a little more awareness.

I love technology. And I also am very aware of its siren-like lure that causes many to drown out everything else and immerse in its flow, to the detriment of conscious relationships and vital health. Our societal focus used to be on the television; now it is shifting to little computers we can carry with us everywhere. My goddaughter, Rowan, recently told me about how much fun she had at a slumber party with her girlfriends, where they stayed up until past midnight texting their one friend who wasn't with them.

When I hear these stories, I feel alarmed. Is the next generation going to be able to function in relationships? Are we creating a society that has no idea what personal intimacy is? And I recognize that my generation grew up with television as the focal point, and I imagine my grandparents worried that we were spending too much time sitting in front of it.

The answer is in finding balance. When I first got my iphone, I found myself playing with it all the time: checking emails, looking at Facebook, searching the internet, playing scrabble with far-flung Toltec friends. It started out fun. And then it started to feel compulsive. I HAD to check my email. I HAD to see what was going on with my friends and family on Facebook. What started out as a convenient  tool for me to create more ease in my life started to shift into a handful of distraction and "should."

Most addictions, whether to alcohol or an iphone, start off like a fun friend but over time turn into a controlling dictator that we are compelled to obey. We put the veneer of "this helps me relax/focus/stay-in-touch/sleep/function" over the top, but the truth is we are no longer making a choice based in the biggest picture of our lives, but in the fixated, fear-based beliefs of the mind.

I now find balance in keeping the ringer off my phone, and only answering when I actually have the space to talk to someone. When I feel the urge to check email or Facebook, I first stop, take a breath, and notice my surroundings. I come more present, and get clear on is this the choice I really want to make?

So now I will upload this blog, close my computer, and go enjoy the beauty of nature outside. Balance!

Taming Wild Pony Projects

Summer brings heat, long days, vacations, and for me, project wrangling.

Each summer Raven escapes the high temperatures and humidity of Texas by heading out of town. I delight in these long stretches of time alone to round up and tame my current herd of run-away ponies.

Many years ago I lived in a tiny cabin on the edge of the Sierra mountains. My horse, Chiona, lived at a stable many miles from me. One morning I woke up with a brilliant idea: To move Chiona to my land. I converted an old shed to a stall, bought some hay, and moved her in. But I had forgotten one major thing in my dreamy vision of being able to visit and ride my horse whenever I wanted to: Chiona was a high-spun, nervous thoroughbred who was an expert at getting herself into trouble.

Chiona waited exactly one day before she metamorphosed into destructo-pony. Then she turned her full powers on. On Day Two I awoke to the sound of hoofbeats outside my window. Chiona had broken out of her stall and was running in panic up and down the road. On Day Three she broke out again, but this time she headed for my garden where she made her mark by galloping repeatedly through my vegetables plants. Day Four we went for a quiet ride where I spent most of my time gripping the saddle so I wouldn't fly off when she stopped abruptly at every tiny noise or movement. On Day Five she broke out again and danced her hooves throughout my garden. One Day Six I realized my folly and moved her to a stable with a real door, fence, and arena.

My current herd of out-of-control pony projects all start out as a dreamy vision of “won't this be wonderful and easy!,” but unattended they bust out of their confinements and create chaos. One is an overflowing heap of papers that attempt to escape each time I open the back closet door; originally I thought “What a perfect place to put the papers I still need to file so I won't have to look at them.” Another is our garage. Yikes. Definitely time for some serious corralling there. The third is Raven's side of our home office, which I received permission to tame after the piles of audio equipment and un-harnessed papers began to stomp over everything else.

Trying to coax a 1,000 pound, galloping animal into her stall at 5 am was great practice for figuring out how to approach the piles of paper that are stacked precariously on my closet shelves and put them into neat containers. And when I open my pantry and see rows of neatly organized goods I feel the same relief I felt the first day I visited Chiona at her new secure stall : all is right with the world and everything is in its proper place.

Lammas Intent: Write, write, write!

August 2 marked the mid-point between summer solstice and fall equinox, a holy day called Lammas, or Lughnasad. Lammas is the first of three harvest festivals that celebrate the ripening of grain, fruit, and vegetables that sustain life. Even though we are blessed to have constant bountiful harvests every time we hunt and gather at the grocery store, I like connecting to the earth's rhythms and remembering that there are seasons for everything.

For me summer is a season to up my play quota and to harvest ripening projects. This weekend I went to the beach and spent hours floating in the warm salty water (I love the Gulf), making sand castles, and learning to boogie board. Part of my intent was to clear the space to make a big shift in my life around my writing.

I tend to go in cycles with my writing; I am an expert in the procrastinate-adrenaline method of creation. Over the years I've discovered the beauty in the slow and steady method, but it only wins out periodically; mostly I use looming deadline monsters as my incentive to write.

And here is my line in the sand to myself: To make writing my primary job, rather than something I squeeze in between emails and laundry. This has always been my heart's desire, but I always seems to find at least one million other things that urgently need to get done first before I can settle in to write.

Which brings me to Stephen King.

Most people know Stephen King as an author of well-written downright creepy or upright thought-provoking books. I know Stephen King as a guiding light for me as an author.

In his book, On Writing, Stephen kicks writer butt. He describes the muse not as some little twinkling fairy who flies over and sprinkles magic dust on your computer, but a surly, cigar smoking fellow who lives in the basement. Our job as writers, Stephen explains, is not to wait like a longing lover for the muse to bless us with an abundance of profound words. Our job as writers is to move into the basement, furnish an apartment for the muse, and get to work.

Stephen goes on to describe what actions support muse relations: A place to write that has a door one can close on the world. A desk, not facing a window, but facing a blank wall. Specific writing hours. No phones or emails or distractions. Writing at least 20,000 words a day, or about ten pages.

I imagine Stephen King sitting down at his desk, day in and day out, writing, and I am inspired (he admits that he writes on holidays and his birthday.) Last night I took this inspiration into action. I set up a tiny table in our back bedroom, facing the wall. I made a weekly schedule. I even created a new user profile for my computer. Now I can log out of noise of my emails and to do lists and log into a new screen that has a picture of still water and gives me access to what I need to write, nothing more.

For the month of August I plan to harvest heaps of words, and to craft those words into a book. I now have an agent and an editor who are guiding me to share my core gifts to a mainstream audience. But more importantly than any one book or writing project, I aim to grow into a steady, dedicated writer who writes no matter what. Aho!