I had thought the sorrow would ease. But it doesn't. I grow accustomed to moving about wearing this new cloak, the one woven of a mother's sorrow, tears, and broken dreams, that sparkles with the love we still share and is fragrant with hope to see you again, whenever and wherever that may be. Sorrow gains a certain density and lends weight to the reality of what has happened. The fact that you are not coming home, ever, concretizes and pulls me out of my small self and into the vastness of the unknown. The fast-paced and early, wild days of this crazy-ass ride are over. I've slipped into the abyss so deeply that I can hear the heartbeat of the stars and I can feel the sky breathe. The pixels of the Universe appear as they are; ever shimmering, changing and fickle in their expression in this temporary reality. And it is so very, very temporary. I guess I learned that one the hard way.
From this perspective, it's hard to stay grounded long enough to get anything done. Doing is overrated in the new landscape. I'm slowly ramping up to go back to work, but I'm only able to sustain a few hours at a time before the illusion of "Cassandra, the Personality" starts to unravel and dissolve back into the mystery that sorrow forces me to explore. It is where my heart rests for now. I feel love here like I've never known love to be. It is full and encompassing. It is the kind of love that can heal me, your dad, your brothers and even the great suffering in the world if our species is willing to embrace it. It's hard to pay attention to the business of the world when the core of the mystery is beckoning to my cracked-open heart to only shine this love.
When you died, and the light of your life here went out, I asked, "Where did the Light go?" For a time I felt it had extinguished along with the sparkle in your eyes. It was beyond horrible to think that the individual spark of life, the soul, who shared a few precious years on earth with me as my son, was vanished, dissolved, disappeared. I meditated and prayed about this for a long time and was relieved to discover the truth. You shine on; your light shines on, Thor. And so brightly! It is simply on the other side of the veil. You left a hole in our hearts, but your passing also created a new opening in the fabric of our understanding. One that I can look through to see the Truth. We are all one. We are all connected. We are here on the planet to learn to love. We are not here to play it safe and never feel anything. Sorrow and Joy are two sides of the same coin; the price of admission to the Big Show where we step into our full potential. I can see with dual-vision now, both sides of things. It is all beautiful, even if it is hard. Maybe it's especially beautiful because it's so hard. The hardness of this is what challenges me to push beyond my comfort zones into real expression, being and loving.
I am still trying to reconcile so many things about this experience. One by one, they fall into place, although there is still so much that is unclear when I try to act in the world. Sixteen weeks is not a lot of time to do this. For now, I have one question to guide me as I plan each day, "Will this bring more light and love into the world?" Whether it's a phone conversation, a visit with friends, taking a walk or scheduling a business meeting, as I decide how to spend the gift of each day of life, that question leads the way. I've had some trials and errors along the way, but it's okay. I'm learning.
There is so much we can never know.
Breathe deeply and relax into the not-knowing.
There is much that we do not have to know
in order to live joyfully.
- Jonathan Lockwood Huie
True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize
how little we understand about life,
ourselves, and the world around us.
I love you, Thor. Now and forever.