The news of his death arrived on a Friday morning in late January. I let the words sink in and waited on some sort of emotion to emerge--relief or sadness or anger. But there was nothing. My indifference startled me more than the news itself. I hung up the phone and went about my day. Later that morning in meditation, I remembered. I remembered that I had mourned losing him years before his physical death. Tumbling toward the inevitable, I'd always suspected how and why. It was only a matter of when.
Two days later was when the fear began to creep in, not in some sort of overwhelming way, but in a slow, permeating way that left me spooked and sleepless for over a week. As though residual darkness from those years was resurfacing--energy that I thought I'd released long ago. Of all things I thought I might feel, I was not expecting this.
I stretched myself across the floor as my friend, the healer, stood over me. If the seer is right about me and my journey, then how and why did I ever get mixed up in something that became so dark and twisted? I asked.
A futile question, really. It was a spiritual sickness, a dis-ease of his soul. It never had anything to do with you, she said. Look at what you learned from that experience. Look at where you are now. She placed the singing bowl on my chest, and the vibration reverberated throughout my body.
She was right. I had spent those last couple years in Santa Cruz mindfully learning the art of forgiveness and compassion and gratitude. I learned how to believe in miracles. I learned how to dance with life. But, in the weeks following the call, a strange, uncomfortable fear I hadn't felt since those years had come unwedged and resurfaced, and it wanted out. My friend slid her hand under my neck and pressed. The pain that had been building there over the past week vanished in an instant. I'd never felt lighter.
When a void is created, be mindful what goes into all that empty space.
Mid-February. I left for Chiang Mai at 5am on a Monday morning. After the long, exhausting journey north, I ended the night in the most unlikely of places--a small local dive bar covered with string lights and a tarp. I met with a friend, and we caught up on life and talked until well after closing time, until they finally kicked us out. Over the next two weeks, I connected with all my Chiang Mai friends, spent hours writing in cafes, hiked through the jungle, explored markets and classes and new neighborhoods. I filled the empty space by being present, by filling it with light.
At the lake's edge, I sat with a student of the seer (one of my first Chiang Mai friends) and asked too many futile questions. Don't ask why, he told me, then paused and smiled. And stop asking questions you already know the answers to. Continue creating your path. Enjoy your journey. What's next? I asked. He laughed. Whatever you want.
Illumination rarely ever strikes me like lightening. It drips slowly until I notice it, like it's always been there. Each season of my life unfolding like a story, it has no distinct shape or arc, but unfolds as an exploration of various facets of this life--some yin, some yang, some shrouded in darkness, much of it full of lightness. I'd written in an old post that 'why' was the most useless question to ask. What's important is the dance with life and how we move with it. Am I listening to the changing seasons? Am I allowing? Am I leaning into trust? Am I living the story that lights me up? Am I? Am I?
I am.
What about you?
