Tag: presence

Losing Someone You Love

Last month, a friend I’ve known most of my life passed away after a recurrence of cancer. It was not entirely unexpected, but it happened suddenly and was deeply shocking. I thought she would always be there—an unspoken assumption many of us probably have about close friends or family. We never imagine that they won’t be in our lives. Yet she was gone. And even the most profound spiritual beliefs about life after death cannot entirely prevent the initial heart pain of losing someone you love.

Teddy and I met in college in San Diego in the late 1960s. We were “flower children” together, going to student demonstrations and be-ins and finding our way during a time of radical social change and personal transformation. After graduating, we lived together in San Francisco and then traveled around Europe for five months. We knew each other’s parents, boyfriends, and first jobs. Eventually I moved to the Boston area for graduate school in women’s literature, and Teddy got a degree in art therapy in SF. I returned to the West Coast after a few years but then moved once again back to Boston. Teddy moved to the East Bay and continued to live an alternative life as a dancer, poet, musician, and art therapist. In New England, I was active in the feminist movement, came out as a lesbian, and wrote for various publications.

No matter where we lived or what we were doing, we always remained close friends, “kindred spirits.” Our lives intertwined even from a distance. I met Ron, the man she married and who was by her side at the end of her life. And she met Anne, my life partner, when we visited California. I can still see Teddy’s face filled with such joy as she looked lovingly at the two of us together. In 2014, she flew to Massachusetts to play the flute at Anne’s and my wedding. Having her present was one of the most beautiful, touching parts of that day. Among other songs, she played Joni Mitchell’s “Circle Game,” which we had listened to many years before in college.

Everything does come full circle in life, and everything is ever-changing. If you embark on a spiritual path, as I did (and Teddy did, with her Buddhist practice), you learn impermanence and letting go. “Forever” is a truth, but only within the continuing soul consciousness beyond one lifetime. As a human being, you are born, and your parents love and launch you on your journey around the circle. Mine were the backbone of my life and so much a part of who I became. I feared their deaths all my life; yet when they passed (and I was with each of them), it became one of the deepest spiritual experiences of my life. And so with Teddy’s transition. I knew she was “gone” here in this dimension, but I also knew her spirit could never entirely vanish. On some level, I was comforted in knowing that she, and others I have loved who have died, are “on the other side” of a very transparent curtain. They have not disappeared into a void where I can never again reach them.

The week after she passed away, I could feel her presence unconnected to a physical form. Memories of our shared experiences flowed through my awareness in wave after wave. My human self couldn’t believe she was actually gone, but my soul knew she was still present. This is one of the ironies of life. We understand on some level that people we love are eventually going to die, but when it happens, it is so hard to assimilate. This is part of the soul’s experience in a human body: the appearance and seeming disappearance of life. Loss and grief are so real, so heart-breaking, but in the process we learn that nothing and no one is ever lost, including ourselves. Gradually, over the course of a lifetime, we grow in wisdom, until finally we accept all of life. We learn that death is an open not a closed door.

Or that is my belief, my trusting. That is what my soul, and God, show me is spiritual truth. And the longer I live, the more expansive that awareness becomes, the more I open to whatever comes, in this world and beyond. For ultimately, there is only love in this universe—divine love and human love. And they are one and the same. Indeed, that was Teddy’s last text to me from her hospital bed, just before she transitioned: LOVE. The essence of our friendship and the wisdom of a lifetime. I carry it with me in my heart, always.

You Are a Vortex

Most people are familiar with the word vortex in relation to energy centers at Sedona, Arizona, associated with various points in the physical landscape there, such as Cathedral Rock. These are believed to be places where powerful spiritual connections can take place. Other well-known energy spots, or sacred sites, are at Stonehenge, Machu Picchu, Haleakala Crater, the Great Pyramid, and the ancient Maya cities of Tulum and Tikal, as well as the underwater Atlantis Road near Bimini.

Not all vortexes are famous though. You may live close to one or more, as I do (I believe nearby Mt. Auburn Cemetery is a sacred energy vortex). Vortexes can take many forms and spark a variety of experiences, physical and nonphysical. At Mt. Auburn (and other places like Machu Picchu and Tikal), I have felt connected to something greater than my physical body, beyond time and space. Each sacred site I have visited unfolds into an interdimensional journey; the very quality of the light is extraordinary, heavenly. And this is how I have come to perceive vortexes: places where an intense flow of energy back and forth links the two dimensions of Heaven and Earth.

Many say the sacred sites around the world are all energetically connected to one another via ley lines, or meridians, that form a grid upon the Earth. My sense is that this energetic network stretches out from Earth to include the entire cosmos. And we as human beings who inhabit this planet are part of that network. We too are connected energetically to the cosmic grid and to one another. What is called psychic awareness, or second sight, is a manifestation of this connection. We all know things that defy rational explanation, that seem to have no basis in fact. Yet they are true at a deeper level. We are not just our bodies; we are much more. And our inner senses stretch far beyond the physical. We have so much to learn about ourselves and the universe during this time of planetary shifts in consciousness.

What we are discovering is that we too are vortexes. We channel cosmic energy, as do the trees, the mountains, the whales, the birds, and all of Nature. Our Earth is alive with energy, and our physical bodies are conduits for connecting that energy to the higher dimensions and receiving divine energy in turn. We are not alone on this planet. The energy of God, or Source, flows through us in every moment. And now is the time in history when we come to realize our great potential as human conduits and angels upon the Earth. We did not just come here to live a one-dimensional life and die. Collectively and individually we are coming into fully embodying human/divine presence in the world. We are evolving not only for ourselves but for the entire universe. Did you think you were alone in your life and in the cosmos? Far from it. We are part of a multiverse of energy that is continuously pulsing light codes. Every one of us is a transmitter and a receiver.

I often feel that vibrant energy when I walk in Nature or gaze up at the sky. I also feel it meditating in my living room or looking in the eyes of another human soul. We are souls above all else. Our physical bodies are temples that house our souls, and these temples are the vortexes that connect all of us to the vortexes of the Earth and to one another. The infinite universe is within us as well as outside. I can’t give you “proof” that this is true, but I know it deep within me. My mind can know physical reality, but my soul knows the music of the spheres to which we all dance within our lifetimes on this planet. We are points of awareness, we are radiant lights, stardust. We came here to shine the light of love in our hearts and to connect with one another and God at the deepest possible level. Stop for a moment in your busy life, take a deep breath, and remember who you are.

The Birds!

Inevitably, people ask me why I moved from Florida back to Massachusetts after only two and a half years. I answer a little differently each time, usually something about missing friends/family and the change of seasons. However, as spring begins to flower in New England, there is one answer that rises to the top: the birds! Meaning the spring bird migration that brings thousands of birds from Central and South America northward through Massachusetts. And right down the street from me to Mt. Auburn Cemetery, which is heaven on Earth for birdwatchers from April to June, especially the first three weeks in May. With the exception of the last two years, this is where I could be found early in the morning to mid-afternoon on most spring days over the past 30 years.

More than anything else, I missed this exciting yearly event.  Even though Florida has incredible birds of its own (herons, egrets, ibises, gallinules, pelicans, parrots, woodpeckers), it was the excitement of seeing warblers, tanagers, orioles, grosbeaks, and thrushes passing through Massachusetts (some nesting here) annually that tugged at my heartstrings and called me home. The thrill of encountering these beautiful songbirds each spring is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. Through long snowy winters, northern birders anticipate their arrival.

When the male cardinal begins to rehearse his spring song in late January or early February, even with snow on the ground and freezing temperatures, it is the first hint that indeed spring is not far away. Soon I hear house finches, song sparrows, and mourning doves singing, as the days lengthen and the changing light cues the birds for their seasonal roles. For me, robins turn the tide. Some of them overwinter in Massachusetts, but it is the arrival of flocks of migrating robins in March that lift my heart: I know that spring is right on our doorstep now. The trees and lawns fill up with robins, and they can be heard calling and singing in the mornings and often throughout the day. This is what I missed most in Florida: robins, with their red breasts, bright eyes, and cheery songs. They sing spring into being, and soon all the other amazing migrating birds follow.

Mt. Auburn is a green gem of woodsy wildness in the midst of the busy streets of Cambridge, Massachusetts. When I walk through its gates, I step out of the city and into the country, or the closest thing to it in a metropolitan area. Tree elders of all kinds, as well as native plantings, flowers, ponds, hills, and dells, are a striking visual invitation to birds who have flown all night on their thousands-of-miles marathon journey from Central and South America. They drop down out of the sky at dawn into this oasis and begin to replenish their life force by eating the insects that come to the flowering spring trees. And we bird-lovers are there to welcome them.

In April, the first warblers appear: yellow-rumped, palm, pine. Then as May begins, the rest begin to fly in: black-throated blue, black-throated green, black-and-white, yellow, northern parula, magnolia, chestnut-sided, bay-breasted, common yellowthroat, ovenbird, American redstart, and so many others. I especially anticipate seeing the Blackburnian with its fiery orange iridescent throat and the Canada with its delicate black necklace. Each warbler has distinctive markings and color patterns that can evoke audible gasps among birders when the sun lights their feathers and their varied songs fill the air.

Around the same time, Baltimore orioles, scarlet tanagers, flycatchers, vireos, and rose-breasted grosbeaks arrive, and the rainbow of bird colors expands. There is nothing to compare to the sight of flashy orange-and-black orioles swirling through the trees chattering at one another and whistling melodically. The scarlet tanager is another showstopper, brilliant red and black among the green leaves, singing its hoarsely sweet song. Then there are the thrushes, whose songs are ethereal flute-like trills in the quiet woods. The veery and wood thrush, in particular, always fill my heart with joy and my eyes with tears as I listen in silence, motionless. Listening as much as watching is the delight of being with birds.

In its simplicity, birdwatching teaches silent presence as well as immersion in the moment. Within that is also surrender to a powerful invisible life force that flows through the universe and carries humans and birds alike. Great spiritual wisdom is embodied in the lives of these tiny feathered beings and awakened in our own hearts. So many birds, so many wonders that play out each spring in a passing parade of color and sound like no other. We are incredibly blessed to share the Earth with birds, who fly so far to light up our souls with their songs and presence. Living miracles each one of them. Who would want to miss this once-a-year magic show? Not me. And that’s why I moved back to Massachusetts.

What Is God?

Who or what is God? A question without an answer really—or with an infinite number of answers. For God is not really a concept that can be explained or a puzzle that can be solved. God is an experience, one that is as unique as every individual on this planet or every soul in the universe. And it cannot be contained within any description or answered question. Perhaps metaphor comes closest to expressing what God is.  And we each have our own inner metaphors for the experience of the Divine.

For me, God is the seed at the center of all creation as well as the flower that arises from the seed. It encompasses creation itself. God’s essence is gender-free, formless. God is birth and death, inhalation and exhalation, shakti and shiva, yin and yang. God is the eternal harmony in which there are no false notes, the truth within which there are no opposites, the Oneness that holds everything. God is an endless ocean of love, a light that shines from each individual soul and from the collective Soul of the cosmos. There is nothing I can imagine that is not God, nothing I can experience that isn’t God.

That has been my experience of God thus far in my life, so much of it arising from my time spent in Nature. When I am standing alone surrounded by the stillness of trees, God is an audible breath in the air: the sweet sound of the wind through the leaves. When the birds sing at sunrise, God’s voice uplifts my soul. When a butterfly floats by and dances in the sunlight before me, God’s tears fall from my eyes. At these moments, God is a loving Presence within me and all around me. There is no separation between the seer and the seen, between my soul and the Divine Soul. My mind has no questions, my heart is connected to all being.

Each moment of connection like this fills me to overflowing, and I long to live in that place always. Yet life offers us more than bliss and beauty. There is pain and sadness in the mix—and the longing itself. As I continue on my journey through life, I expand into greater inclusiveness of all parts of the human experience as God. I realize longing and pain are divine catalysts. They are moving me beyond the idea that I can only experience God as a peak experience. The truth is that God is ordinary as well as extraordinary. The dirt as well as the daisy. I know that on some level, but part of me is still caught in remnants of polarity, separation. I am One, and then I become distracted by everyday details like grocery shopping and making dinner. Or taking a shower….

Every single life event is a stepping-stone into more expansive awareness. Even a simple shower can be an opening to the cosmos. This morning, as the water poured over my head, and I looked at the sky through the small window above me, suddenly my perception completely shifted. I was aware of a consciousness looking out through my eyes, something that has happened fleetingly once or twice before.* I knew it was God experiencing the world through me, through my senses and awareness. Actually God is that awareness. An awareness that loves every experience, peak or mundane. As my gaze turned to look at the shower curtain and then the droplets of water running down my body, I realized at the deepest possible level that it was all God—because God was within me seeing it all, with love. This is what Ram Dass called “loving awareness.”

That shift in vision is available to us all the time as we open our hearts to the possibilities of life. We are each on a journey home to that loving awareness, which is who we are. We are awareness, infinite consciousness; we are God. In that awareness, the distinction between peak and mundane disappears, and there is only Presence. And the question “What is God?” disappears within it.

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*See my blog “Whose Hands Are These?” 2015

Internal Weather

What if the weather outside your window is actually a reflection of the weather conditions inside you? What if your perceptional framework for viewing life shapes everything, including how you see physical conditions such as rain, snow, clouds, and sunshine that appear to be outside you? What if nothing is quite as it seems to be to the mind? What if the world is as you are?

Ever since I was a small child, I have carried within me an at-times-overwhelming grief about the nature of life, death, and eternity. The “human condition” terrified me; infinity terrified me. Late at night, I described my fear to my mother as “the world goes on forever and ever.” She comforted me and tried to help me learn to distract myself with happier thoughts. But the core unease never really disappeared. In college, I found infinity hiding inside my astronomy and philosophy textbooks. Fear of death and whatever came after was always hovering in the back of my consciousness. In my 30s, I turned to a spiritual quest to try to resolve it. That was the beginning of a shift in my perception.

Over the years, I came to a much broader view of life and of God’s presence in the universe. I have experienced a vast inner peace arising from my soul. At times, when I am completely immersed in it, the peace is as infinite and all-consuming as the fear once was. I “know” with every fiber of my being that infinity is actually divine love, which permeates every aspect of life. There is nothing but infinite consciousness expressing, always, everywhere in the cosmos. It is inside me and outside me, and actually there is no inside and outside. There is a seamless Oneness to all Being. This is what I experience, and within that is peace.

Yet there are still moments, usually late at night, when the fear arises, and a tremendous grief accompanies it. Some people are comforted by the idea of eternity; I am terrified by it. Now, however, I have come to see it as a catalyst for my soul’s evolution in this lifetime. It propels me ever deeper within and connects me to divine Presence, which lives as peace in my soul. My human grief also lives inside me. Depending on my state of mind, I can see that grief as separate from and larger than the peace or as only a small part of it. I realize that my humanity is actually how my divinity experiences itself on Earth. My human life pushes me further and deeper on my soul journey, until I completely merge with God consciousness.

Meanwhile, there are times on this path, this journey, that the catalyst of fear awakens me to a new level of awareness about the nature of reality and my life in it. I begin to understand that my perceptual framework (which interprets the world around me, and how and what I see) is dependent on whether I am in human fear or divine peace. And the seeming separation and polarity is actually for my own expansion and growth. Eventually, I will abide in peace without the interruption of fear or grief. The wisdom deep in my soul tells me this, and I trust it as the expanses of peace in my daily life become more and more seamless. When the old grief or fear arises, it is clear to me now how they can shape my perceptions. Rain and snow are just experiences; life and death are just experiences—all of them part of the soul’s journey in this world. If I see them as miracles, that is what they are in my experience. And grief gradually dissolves within Presence.