It’s been a little over four months since this project began—blogging about writing my book Out of the Darkness. And, as one might imagine, life happens, things change.
Kevin’s mother died on Monday the 14th of December. His father died on a Monday too. It was also the 14th of the month. It was seventeen months ago.
I came late in their lives. I didn’t get to know them well. But, in the aftermath--the chores of cleaning up a life or lives--I am getting to know them. It makes me smile. Kevin is so much like each of them in different ways. The nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree.
Kevin’s poem to his mother:
Release
Descending:
An anxious breeze
A fractured, rustling scape,
Unsettled mind
Swirling, amorphous shapes.
Transcending:
The thinning veil
A sparkling curtain of light,
The beckoning hands of her lover
From the other side.
Resurgent hope and promises to keep
Melt into a euphoric peace.
Ascending:
Mesmerized by that dazzling light
Drawing her softly to the source,
Sans fright. She acquiesces willingly
To its all-enveloping serenity.
One of the themes of the book-Out of the Darkness--is ascension to hope.
Darkness turns into light/hope. Death becomes rebirth. Endings transition into beginnings.
It is my belief that all energy simply transforms itself and that there is never an ending in the way we might think.
The day after my father died nearly seven years ago now, I saw him. I did. I was sitting in the family room in my big chair for my morning meditation. I opened my eyes and there he stood. Before me was not the old frail man who had just died, but my father about the age of 40, dark wavy hair, handsome, lean. He was wearing khaki pants and a white button down shirt and dark loafers. He didn’t speak to me, but simply smiled. And that smile spoke a thousand words and I was shown briefly, very briefly the beauty, peace and love from the other side.
Kevin’s parents are on that side now. Their human pain and suffering is over. The anxiety, the fear, the loneliness have been transformed into peace, love and belonging.
Death changes things for the living, because death transforms us.
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