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January 23, 2013

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treesta

PEACE gifted this poem to me and my Mom in the sassosphere's vigil for my mother, and had such meaning. I gift it now to Matiss and Momista, with love.


What is life...
It is the flash
of a firefly
in the night.

It is the breath
of a buffalo
in the wintertime.

It is the little shadow
which runs across the grass
and loses itself in the sunset.

-- Crowfoot

In her time and way, may Momista lose herself in the sunset, in the warmth, in the light of her family's love.

Flannista

Am at Matissta's with Huck. Woke up to these emails:

I am very sorry that I was mistaken about Momista's respirator being seen as an "heroic measure". Her proxy stated that it had to be confirmed by two doctors and not just one. The email from Matiss this morning at 12:11 a.m.:

"On respirator. And now morphine. Didn't even know we were here."

An email at 12:51 a.m.:

We're going to make an appt. to meet with the palliative care group tomorrow."

Flannista

I do not think that Sista C will mind me posting that she has had to make a last-minute trip to Mississippi to see her mom as her mom's health is failing. If you recall, Sista C's father died last year.

Travel blessings to her.

Flannista

I need to take care of Huck now and then review a presentation I prepared for a two-hour, PART ONE of a storytelling workshop for retirees later this morning.

Inspiring 70- and 80-year-olds to tell their stories has taken on profound meaning to me these days.

treesta

Waiting in vigil for a parent must ultimately be experienced within one's heart, and I know Matiss that you are a private person. Also know with surety that you are enveloped in a circle of beloveds and friends who are standing with you and your Mom, praying for you, thinking of you, and holding you all near and dear.

treesta

Flann, please be careful traveling, as I know your thoughts are constantly with your love.

Flannista

Just talked with Matissta. She is at the hospital. Momista recognized her.

Holy God, have mercy on your servants.

PEACEsista

I've lighted a candle on my kitchen counter for Momista, Matissta ... all of us. The scent name is printed on the bottom of the candle jar: Mother's Love. I bought it in northern Wisconsin, before my own mother died. One day, this candle will be gone, but for now, the air is filled with mother's love and it is very sweet.

Flannista

A beautiful gesture, PEACEsista -- liturgical, even.

Thank you.

Flannista

Before I leave for my presentation, I am listening to Jennifer Berezan's recording of "Returning":

Returning, returning, returning to the Mother of us all.

frida

Thinking of you...

Flannista

Am back from my storytelling presentation. Have heard from Matissta a couple of times.

Let it come, as it will, and don’t

be afraid. God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come.

Emily

Thinking of you Matissta. Sending tender pulses of caring and support to you. Admiring the way you take on life and care about people. Thinking of your Mom. Honoring her private, soulful journey home. Thinking of the loving bond between you, daughter and mother, friendship. Celebrating the mystery that love can transcend space, time.

Ella Slesnick

Matissta, may I repeat here a lovely song for the soul that Flannista introduced me to in 1992. It helped me then, as my family faced the uncertainty you face now.

As swimmers dare
to lie face to sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to attain
freefall, and float
into Creator Spirit's deep embrace,
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.

--"The Avowal"
Denise Levertov

Flannista

Ella -- treesta will attest that reading this comment brought tears to my eyes. You have been one of my most dear and long-term angels. Thank you.

Talked to Matissta about 45 minutes ago. All remains the same for now, except, of course, that Matissta's life will never be the same.


Let it come, as it will, and don’t

be afraid. God does not leave us

comfortless, so let evening come.

Flannista

No news overnight.

treesta

Good morning, everyone. Matiss, we wait with you.

PEACEsista

We look with uncertainty
Beyond the old choices for
Clear-cut answers
To a softer, more permeable aliveness
Which is every moment
At the brink of death;
For something new is being born in us
If we but let it.
We stand at a new doorway,
Awaiting that which comes ...
Daring to be human creatures.
Vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love.

~ Anne Hillman

treesta

Beautiful, PEACE.

Flannista

Thank you, PEACEsista.

Learning to love at times like these totally sucks, I have to confess, but I trust that there is some sort of beauty -- the birth of something new -- on the other side of the doorway.

Flannista

In the category of, "I-can't-make-up-this-stuff", I just looked out into my backyard. I've been watching the birds all morning, eating with a frenzy. I had to go out and fill up the feeders again. Anyhoo, when I looked there was not one bird in sight. Then I saw it -- sitting on top of the main bird feeder -- a HUGE red-tailed hawk, just sitting there like it was keeping vigil.

I looked up the meaning of seeing a hawk in the book, Animal Speak: The Spiritual and Magical Powers of Creatures Great & Small that PEACEsista gifted to me several years ago. Here's what the book specifically says about a red-tailed hawk:

"This powerful bird can awaken visionary power and lead you to your life purpose. It is the messenger bird, and whenever it shows up, pay attention. There is a message coming."

Needless to say, I'm paying attention.

PEACEsista

Beautiful, Flann:

"For something new is being born in us
If we but let it."

Justista


Daring to be human creatures.
Vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love.

treesta

Just as Let Evening Come seems to have become our vigil poem in the 'sphere, so to have we had sightings of hawks during our times of vigil. There is something in that energy that is important to our community.

treesta

The code thingy 8-ball just now was 'signs'. Truly.

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