Dear Sharon…

Image credit, Sofia

Looking into the field of awareness, and there smiling back, the tone of the moment…

A pregnant threshold between the identity that holds presence, and the unfathomable, ineffable boundlessness that transcends even perception.

And yet, that which is almost unspeakable, unthinkable, glimmers through, reflected in this moment as I, taking metaphoric pen to page, begin to offer some stream of words. The pregnant threshold in this case, that stretchy instance of time between now and when guests arrive for the evening’s considerations…

Even now, in this late afternoon just 20 years hence, I don’t quite recall whether it was morning or afternoon this day two decades ago when the integrity of the tire gave way and a certain catastrophe began to unfold.

For those not familiar, that was the event that took the lives of our friends Ula and Heather, closing the chapter on the immediacy of their presence, and tumbling loved ones remaining into the profundity of grief.

April, another of our beloved blessed with the dubious fortune misfortune of surviving nearly unscathed in the integrity of flesh and bone, and yet in so doing taking on the terrible honor of witnessing these lives just passed, and so standing by my side as I reemerged from the near-death state into this new life and freshly paralyzed body.

The day was bright blue above, as it is today. Now, just a few minutes before the 3 o’clock hour, I sit quietly alone in a still household. Marvin Gaye in the background melodies along the Sweetness of being Loved… Yes indeed. The sweetness of love… I do.

Soon, others will arrive, activity will further commence, and we will be blessed again by the joyfulness of many eyes reflecting one another.

I might not have written today. I might not have written, except…

I have the honor yesterday of telling a certain version of Kabir’s story to the good folks at the HICKORY podcast, courtesy of my friend Sharon. The episode is not yet published, but for those who will listen, I was tickled to discover a certain pathway through my own life story that brought new facets, previously dormant in my awareness, to view.

Some of you may know that there was a time when I wrote as a daily discipline, wrote and published that is. In our conversation, Sharon called me back to that with a gentle loving, and implicit insistence that I might more often do so once again.

I write today to you dear Sharon. It’s just a simple hello, and thank you, and bursting giggling exclamation, like the first drops of a little brook to be burping up through the soil, unseen.

“All things have the quality of the moment in time in which they began…” I saw these words written once and they just made sense to me.

While the aforementioned ineffable boundless profundity swallows whole any glimmer of beginnings and endings and even time itself, still from here, from the relative sense of our broken hearts, our losses, our loving, our moment to moment, we mark the passings of these constructed inflection points.

That sunny day in November, 20 years ago, on a quiet country highway, there was love in the air. There was a smile on my heart. Then bang, tear, screech, and something began…

We mark moments, hours, days, years, decades, and here I sit at the marker of just two of the latter. Another sunny afternoon, undoubtedly a moment of some transition, though what ends, and what begins invites the humility of an open heart and the generosity of curiosity going forward.

Amanda has just arrived, the mistress of ceremonies this evening as it was her impetus that brought some festivities to mark the day. We will move now to begin the final stages of preparation, readying the house and accoutrement for the arrival of community.

Thank you again Sharon, for your generosity of spirit and encouraging words, I look forward to dancing with you, and all of you in the timeless celebration unfolding…