A Blessing written by Jan Richardson for her husband who died following a stroke

This resonates so strongly with me.  Jan Richardson is such an amazing writer, spiritual worker, and artist.

Where Your Song Begins Again
A Blessing

Beloved,

I could not bear it
if this blessing ended
with the final beat
of your heart,

if it left
with the last breath
that bore you away
from here.

I could not stand
the silence,
the stillness
where all
had once been song,
had been story,
had been the cadenced liturgy
of your life.

So let it be
that this blessing
will abide
in the pulse
that moves us
from this moment
to the next.

Let it be
that you will breathe
in us here bereft
but beloved still.

Let it be
that you will make your home
in the chamber
of our heart

where your story
does not cease,
where your words
take flesh anew,
where your song
begins again.

Grief and The Artist's Way

I recently read Julia Cameron's memoir "floor sample".  It rocked my confidence somewhat as i had, until that point, rather idolised the woman who authored "The Artist's Way".  I had naively decided that she must be living a constantly spiritually rich, healthful, peaceful life!  What kind of idiocy is this?!  Julia Cameron is...guess what?  HUMAN...  Like me she has attended AA and picked up many gems from the group meetings and individual contacts made through this Twelve Step programme.  I found myself judging her as i read.  Oh here she goes!  Moving house again, throwing herself into a half-baked plan...  But the fact is that Julia is everywoman.  We might all make different mistakes and fall into different holes but we do all make mistakes and we do all fall into holes, whether pot-holes, rabbit-holes, or huge chasms.

So i have bought myself a new copy of "The Artist's Way" and i am going to ask a few women if they would be interested in travelling with me.  The truth is that i was immensely envious, nay! JEALOUS of the Artist's Way group that Alison developed.  It was such an important part of Alison's life which was wonderful but it was a world i wasn't part of.  This happened a lot over the years.  Alison and i were close in so many ways but there were also periods of time when we were remote from one another and there were events and situations that, for some reason or other, i withdrew, held back, ran away.  And now i'm kicking myself.  I'm wondering why i let that happen.  I know that some of this is grief but there's something else, something yet to be explored...

Grief (part of) From "God is No Laughing Matter" by Julia Cameron

To love is human, to care is human, to grieve is human. Each of us grieves at our own tempo, in our own way. There is no proper way to grieve. Some of us do it by storms of tears, some by mountains of work, some by paralysing inertia. Some flail at it like a raging river. Some cross it like a trackless waste. It can be oceanic, heaving the bereft survivor like great waves that rise, then pass. It can be fine and subtle as the late autumn air, tinged with smoke and ashes. Grief is many things, but above all it is personal. It is normal. And no matter how we do it, we do not do it wrong.

Sometimes in "spiritual" circles there is judgement concerning grief. There is a right way to grieve, a right time to grieve, a "spiritually" appropriate decorum for grief. This is nonsense, but it is pervasive and persuasive nonsense.

"Why can't I have more faith?" we demand of ourselves, as though grief were counter to faith.
"Why can't I see this as a beginning?" we badger ourselves, as though an ending weren't already a beginning.
"Maybe I should grieve longer?" we will even say as new life rushes to the fore. 

Grief is tidal. It comes upon us and subsides. Grief is mysterious, sensual and particular. ... We are intended to grieve. Grief deepens the soul. Its timing and duration are God's business, not our own. Like the hand of a great storm, a great grief leaves us shaken but washed clean.

Grief is devastating, not only because of losing what we love, but additionally because of a loss of faith that may result. ... We're angered by God's action or God's timing. We're angry at ourselves for what was left undone or unsaid and we blame God for taking away our chance to say to do it. 

Birthday Blues

Bitter-sweet and candy-free
wish list abandoned
gift-wrap shelved

But twins are never on their own
when birthdays come and go
they will forever share these days
and so will we, their friends

Bitter-sweet and candy-free
wish list checked
presents sent.

No longer will she take her seat
to celebrate and feast
we will forever set a place
and let her take her turn

Bitter-sweet and candy-free
wish list written
heart unwrapped.

(Happy) Birthday to You,
(Happy) Birthday to You,
(Happy) Birthday dear Alison,
(Happy) Birthday to You

Alison would have been 44 on Friday 11th October 2013.  Marion, her twin, had her 44th birthday.   Four years ago we were all preparing for their "80th" as they turned 40.  As the party approached Alison received her diagnosis of breast cancer.  Understandably this was to be kept quiet and the party went ahead with dancing and food and laughter.  But i was screaming inside, i found it so painful to observe (for observe was all i did other than preparing, serving and clearing away the food).  I have a few very short video clips which show Alison dancing.

How could she be gone less than 4 years later?

I don't know how and when Marion will have a happy birthday.  I don't know how, if ever, her birthday will be more celebration than sorrow.  I don't know.  I can only guess.

(Happy) Birthday to You,
(Happy) Birthday to You,
(Happy) Birthday dear Marion,
(Happy) Birthday to You

Naked Tree

leaves that fall copper and bronze to the earth
make music and create beauty
those that are torn from the branch are incoherent
they scream as their veins collapse
they weep as they realise they will never be autumnal

this naked tree is not bare for the winter
she is not a roost for the buzzard and nuthatch
- no, this tree is all but uprooted
the scar on the earth is terrible

gaping wide, exposed to all
and sundry (in all its shapes and sizes),
there are some who try to describe her form as art
others explore utilitarianism, consider
how the branches will be kindling and the trunk so many tables and chairs
- she has not died in vain.

but i weep open-mouthed and ugly
i rage against the injustice
have no patience with the blessed
or with those who bare their own wounds

for this tree was primed for greatness
her branches tended yet wild
the harvest a long sweaty labour
but the fruits so sweet and so plump

I cannot dance round her yet
i will not celebrate what was
i can only caress her memory 
and miss her
and weep.

Moonrise

The moon rises

i wash my face in her tears

clouds scud across the stuttering stars

i wipe my eyes on sky's dark cloth

and all the while,

as these mystical happenings loom large in front of me,

i hardly see them

i scarcely feel the roughness of the cloth

so lost in grief am i,

so already-raw,

that no new pain can match it,

no sight nor sound can measure up

and no spirit can revive what i have lost.

[written 18th September]

"death is moving from being somewhere to being everywhere" Margaret Silf

...and yet

there are so many areas of life
so many aspects of every day
where i can't reach you

one of three buddies on Moodscope
a follower on every blog i've ever written
a favourite contact on Skype, on Facebook, on Gmail
and always in my Top Ten of phone calls

one click and you're gone
a few taps of the backspace button
and your name has disappeared
a seemingly casual delete
and your name has been erased

and it is possibly quite soothing
that you live on as an avatar
it is probably a help
that all your messages are still there

but yet
i keep wanting to hear your voice
i hover over your name on my phone
i long to write to you and share with you
and laugh and cry and hug
you...

A Woman Who Lived Adventurously

From Quaker Faith and Practice, Chapter One: Advices and Queries

27. Live adventurously. When choices arise, do you take the way that offers the fullest opportunity for the use of your gifts in the service of God and the community? Let your life speak. When decisions have to be made, are you ready to join with others in seeking clearness, asking for God's guidance and offering counsel to one another?

Alison pregnant with Caitlin

carrying precious cargo

driving them around

both a privilege and a worry.

[A memory as i drove the three children to the woodland burial] 

Psalm 121 (King James Version)

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.

He will not suffer thy foot to be moved:

he that keepeth thee will not slumber.

Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.

The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.

The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in

from this time forth, and even for evermore.

I look up to the mountains

does my strength really come from those great heights?

No, indeed not. For my strength comes from God,

from the divine spark, that of God within me

within and around us all

co-Creator with us, Creator of us,

Creator for us. 

[reflection during Meeting for Worship on The Message version of Psalm 121, verse one following on from the King James version being read at the graveside]

extract from "A Kite for Michael and Christopher" by Seamus Heaney

My friend says that the human soul

is about the weight of a snipe,

yet the soul at anchor there,

the string that sags and ascends,

weigh like a furrow assumed into the heavens.

Before the kite plunges down into the wood

and this line goes useless

take in your two hands, boys, and feel

the strumming, rooted, long-tailed pull of grief.

You were born fit for it.

Stand in here in front of me

and take the strain.

(thank you dear Iona for finding this for me)

cord-bearers

- take the strain

(let me fall)

release the cords

and she will fly

(but she is my anchor

who will hold me now?)

During the Memorial Meeting for Worship this was sung:

"How Can I Keep From Singing?"...Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

Enfolded in the arms of girls i've known since before their births

comforted by those who once i gently soothed and rocked 

and sung to by a girl of wisdom true, the Gean girls wild and free.

COURAGE

Courage has roots. 

 She sleeps on a futon on the floor and lives close to the ground. 

Courage looks you straight in the eye.

She is not impressed by power trippers, and she knows first aid.
Courage is not afraid to weep and she is not afraid to pray,
even when she is not sure who she is praying to.
When Courage walks, it is clear that she has made the journey from loneliness to solitude.
The people who told me she was stern were not lying;
they just forgot to mention she is kind.

(from "The Book of Qualities" by J Ruth Gendler.  Quoted in a card sent to me by Alison which has been of such great solace to me.  So many cards and letters over so many years, each with precious messages of comfort, encouragement, love and spirit)