My friend left this morning. I watched
her in my car mirror – laughing, and giving me signs of love and
support as I meandered through the streets, looking a little lost. I
was leading her to the freeway, not wanting her to lose her way in
this alien city, but, also, wanting to hold onto her as long as
possible – even just her image in my mirror.
To be in her presence for a moment is
to love her. If Mother Earth had a physical form, it would be hers –
combined with the Goddess of Love.
She gave me a cheery wave, and a honk
as I stopped at the on ramp for 395 across the Key Bridge, and
pointed to her route.
It was a sad, bumpy ride back home to
my somewhat messy, but comfortable apartment in NW DC.
I sat in the room she had slept in for
the past few days, and felt her hug around me. Then, I opened her
shoe-box covered with flowery Bless this House paper containing a
postcard of a young Buddha, a bunch of sage, a seashell from Virginia
Beach, a stone from Maine, a candle, a piece of leather given to her
by a childhood friend,, and box of matches from New York. She had
left it for me.
I carefully removed a match from the
cardboard box – there were only three- and, lit the candle. Then, I
lit the sage, blew out the candle, and streamed the smoke around my
head, and chest, then put out the smoldering twigs with the stone on
the seashell.
I closed my eyes, and paid attention to
the crushing pain in my chest. To be open to love is to be open to
pain, I told myself. I allowed the pain to engulf me, and felt warm
wetness on my cheeks. I understood that my friend loved me in a way I
didn't love myself. I was curious about that thought, and, followed
it for a while – the white rabbit. Where would it take me? The
rabbit hole was dark, and constricting. Then, there was an opening. I
saw that there was a space for me to expand in, and, stepped into it.
It was a soft, orange triangular room that seemed to be breathing
with me. I felt no confinement, or restriction there. Just an open
acceptance. I stayed for a while, not wanting to come back to a home
where my friend was not. Then, the world started calling to me:
“visit your garden, go take some photographs, update your Nook...”
I opened my eyes, blew out the candle,
and put the items in the box. I was comforted, knowing I can go back
there, and, perhaps, bring that inside world outside a little, bit,
by bit.
She is now with her son, and, another
dear, and wonderful woman, an artist, who lives on a farm with
her musician husband in Virginia. I know that her blanket of love,
and joy covers all who come near her.
I think of all the people with whom I
have links whose lives are full, and free. And, then, I look around
at the people in this city with their stoney gazes, and stiff
shoulders. We were all once babies, full of wonder, love, and
curiosity. Why do we allow ourselves to be prisoners with unknown
jailers?
