We are surrounded by death. It is currently anyone’s game. No guarantees. That is always the case, but with the eyelids open just a wee bit more, the realization is bright.
People die. It is a part of the cycle. The American culture is ill prepared. When one ponders just one element, say the political situation, it illuminates our disconnection with God with the big picture. But we have messed up values. Look in a grocery cart. Watch a half hour of the news or Youtube. Consider the financial direction of a paycheck. Frightening.
Suffice it to say, I don’t recommend self judgment. Just a moment with the eyelids more than cracked can send a person over the edge. Open them slowly, carefully, and with a lot of self compassion. And look inward. Use any judgment that pops up to look inward. That could clear the hatred, a lot. Compassion.
Debby’s dad Leslie Clinton House died a few week ago. He was diagnosed with cancer, underwent treatment, and was living normally. The last I heard, he was helping with the cats, feeding and cleaning up after them while Debby spent time in the hospital.
Leslie Clinton House July 1944 to November 2020
He died peacefully, sat down with a cup of coffee, and slipped to the other side. Quiet. Simple. No melodrama. I think it was his form of perfect.
She misses him, misses the idea of him, longs for the tasks and love of the human form. Of course.
We are surrounded by death. It is currently anyone’s game. No guarantees. That is always the case, but with the eyelids open just a wee bit more, the realization is bright.
Am I doing what I want to do with the last year of my life, the last month, the last week, the last day of my life? Are you?
We may be here for decades. Or we might slip to the other side in a heartbeat.
Drum making is a lengthy, somewhat painful journey. My hands were raw and achy. Hours and hours passed, cutting and pulling the lacing.
If I back up to the year that Mom died, 2007, it could be called the year that I cried. The year that I transformed. I did not cry for my mother, quite the opposite. I cried for myself. Her transformation to the next stages transcended any experience that I had ever entertained. It was a form of ecstasy, for both of us.
I had a lot of growing to do, and so many questions about how spirituality and religion differ. It felt like one had nothing to do with the other. In many ways, my experience with death was a window into what I was missing. I poured myself into reading about all ways of accessing God, into many practices and journeys.
I focused on myself. Much like finishing high school and the first two or three years of college, my time was very “self centered”. I cared about my path and my purpose, where I was, and what was important. I am here again. None of these periods of growth have come by choice. Just like Christmas for the Grinch, “It came just the same”. Like a snowball, it started small and grew as it rolled.
Back in the year that Mom died, the Transformation Drum was born. It is made of elk hide, pulled from soaking in water outside of the basement of an Indigenous family. We cut the hide to shape, and punched the holes ourselves. I remember pulling the lacing with Amye. It was taught that this was a cooperative journey, one where the formation of the drum was an effort of the group of creators. I imagine that I helped her pull her lacing tight as well.
Drum making is a lengthy, somewhat painful journey. My hands were raw and achy. Hours and hours passed, cutting and pulling the lacing. It was a meditation, a journey, a transformation in itself. The drum is an expression of my years of experience. It dried over the next day or two.
And then it waited. A year, maybe two years, it sat naked and waiting for paint. Drums do not have to be painted, but this one cried for color, and begged for meaning. I worked on the design, studied, and pondered my themes.
Transformation. The center is the sun sign. The colors are red and black, with a tiny touch of white. Spirals, journeys, movement. Spiral snakes for sun rays. Spiral ravens holding red suns in their beaks. The story of the Raven returning the sun to the people held me, like I myself was soaring into the universe, placing the glowing orb in its final home.
And this year, the drum is complete. I added the decorative lacing, the symbol of ancestry, crow feathers, and beads. I embellished the drum beater to match. There are three crow shaped beads, three for the Trinity. I often sit and stare at it. It is a form of Eternal beauty. It speaks to me.
It speaks to me of transformation, how we journey to the many layers of the Divine. It speaks to me in its drum beats, the melancholy of my heart, how I long to be reconnected in every moment, how it burns in my chest when I look closely. It reminds me of Mom, of the Divine Mother, and the mother that I am.
Mom wrote an apology letter, probably some time before she died. She knew that she was leaving the project for others. And she also told me directly that once she was facing the extent of her pancreatic cancer, the psychological hoarding increased. Mom and Dad hoarded. Functionally hoarded.
Kwami and Nyasha were under the house yesterday, accomplishing stuff. Under. Through a trap door. Below the floor. Kwami handed up gallon after gallon of water… and garbage, a stack of old vents and rings and furnacey stuff.
It brought back that inner sigh. I feel more “push” to get the space cleaned up and cleared out. And there are always surprises. When I think I know what is left, another nook or cranny unearths more miscellaneous items to think about, to sort, to discard. My mind jumps to the phrase, “What were they thinking?”
When I moved into Dad’s house, the full intention was to prepare it for the possibility of sale, if it had to happen.
Jan did so much sorting and discarding back when she moved in. It was miraculous for me! But it was a terrible mountain for her. She never complained. I am complaining for her.
Mom wrote an apology letter, probably some time before she died. She knew that she was leaving the project for others. And she also told me directly that once she was facing the extent of her pancreatic cancer, the psychological hoarding increased. Mom and Dad hoarded. Functionally hoarded. They had space to store stuff and still live without it affecting their existence. Two bedrooms were packed to the gills (where did that idiom come from?). The garage, two storage sheds, the attic… apparently a little trash and water in the crawl space.
What were they thinking?
It is something about the brain. It is said that children of the war time acquired this. During the war, it was hard to get what one needed, and so the thought of having things stored, on hand, was built into the strategy for survival. But the brain continued that thinking on past the sensible timeline.
And in my parents case, they were not organized enough to access what was stored. So, as I sort, there are probably more than 20 saws in the garage, found in as many locations. Before I pared down, the shed stored six or seven of each type of yard tool (because Mom and Dad kept the ones the grandparents left behind). Oddly, not as many redundant wrenches turned up. I think Dad’s hand tools have more reasonable numbers because he DID know where they were, and he did have his own form or organization for that which was important to him.
I am going to do a load for the dump. We have literally taken full loads, numbering to the teens now. At one point I hired a hauling company, who transported a dump truck load of the enormous stuff. Many trips to the toxics site, several to take donations, one full load gifted to an antique store, numerous to the recycle center.
Mark would tease our parents, “When you die, we will just hire a truck and haul it away.” Who knew that it could be truck after truck after truck? I am pretty sure that everything I own will fit into one truck. One trip. I hope
The reason that Death with Dignity applies to my situation is that, with no treatment, my diagnosis leads doctors to statistically agree that I would not live six months. Without treatment. No chemo, no intervention.
What a long process! Death with Dignity is not something that you can plan for on the short term. There are so many steps. Today, mine are complete…well, complete for the next six months, and then there will be parts to repeat. It doesn’t take most people six months to get to this point in the process. I just haven’t pushed the envelope.
Last week, the final doctor visit of the approval process checked off the list. Today, I contacted End of Life Washington. They provide a volunteer that helps family and friends, and the Death with Dignity patient, in the last moments of life. Who does that? What an incredible and sacred contribution! Julie, who handles Death with Dignity for Kaiser, recommended I snag myself a volunteer, just to finish the list. So, I’m ready to go! A volunteer will be assigned to my exit now.
It IS a strange conversation. I have no idea if Death will be visiting any time soon, scythe in hand, waiting to start me out across Terry Pratchett’s black desert. I have no idea whether Death with Dignity will be a benefit in the process, because that is a matter for the specific situation. Hospice may be enough.
The reason that Death with Dignity applies to my situation is that, with no treatment, my diagnosis leads doctors to statistically agree that I would not live six months. Without treatment. No chemo, no intervention.
I was pondering the Grace and Frankie episode; Babe chose her date of death during a cancer battle. She used a suicide method to create her path, yet California is a Death with Dignity state. The show must have chosen the plot line to match the majority of the country. Only eight states have legislated Death with Dignity.
One of my questions for Julie was about the prescription. Can the Supreme Court remove this right? Will I be informed before the prescription is pulled from the pharmacy? She assures me that they will know, and I would be warned.
Endless variables. I just added an option, and wrapped it up with a (volunteer) bow.
And when death happens, the people you live with may do very strange things, very strange indeed. You never know what might happen to your wedding ring or the cross you wear every day. It could be very twisted. People in mourning are not themselves
I think about all of the things I would want to ask if I had an hour with my grandma or with my mom. The edges of stories have become unclear. The family medical histories. The feelings and interpretations of stages of death are always a mystery that I would like to comprehend. But Mom and Grandma are on to greater things, already up.
These things that I write are saved in the computer as “On my way up…” We are all on our way. Up.
When I woke today, I was thinking about the blessed time with family.
When there are moments, people should ask their questions. If they are pertinent questions, you may want to note the answers somewhere! You will forget. The lines will blur.
If you were never going to see someone again, never going to hear their voice, what would you want to know? What would you want to say to them? Stay on top of these things. Life doesn’t have guarantees.
A strange little twist to that topic can be solid representations. Claim them. Ask for post its. Put your name behind or under that wall hanging or glass bird. Even as we live, we send things away that might mean something to someone.
Be straight. Talk about my words. Just say, “When I look at that glass bird, I think of you. Can I claim it?” You could even ask for a piece of paper to write “Jane gets the glass bird”, and have the person pop it in their file with the will.
Mom wore a cross around her neck for years, even a decade. It meant a lot to her, connected her to Dad who wore one to match. That piece of jewelry should have gone to my sister in law, Helaine. She and Mom shared daily walks, talks about religion and politics, a strength and connection that was palpable. To Helaine, it would have represented memories, heart, soul, a living prayer.
But Mom didn’t leave notes about her personal wishes. Even with lots of time for notes, there was no list. I have no list.
And when death happens, the people you live with may do very strange things, very strange indeed. You never know what might happen to your wedding ring or the cross you wear every day. It could be very twisted. People in mourning are not themselves.
Mom’s cross went to a family friend, not someone particularly close to mom, certainly not a daily companion or relative. And her ring? It was converted into a new engagement ring for a woman Dad dated briefly. At least she had been someone who loved mom dearly. But it did not land where Mom would have wanted it to go. I know she doesn’t care now.
Don’t be shy. It’s an honor that you want to know the answers, want to hold the memories.
My Earth Sanctuary Memorial Tree reminds me of the cedars in Dad’s yard. When I was standing outside of the house, staring at the trees, it made enormous sense. Nyasha asked me recently, “Don’t you want your ashes to go to Jesus Land?”
My Earth Sanctuary Memorial Tree reminds me of the cedars in Dad’s yard. When I was standing outside of the house, staring at the trees, it made enormous sense. Nyasha asked me recently, “Don’t you want your ashes to go to Jesus Land?”
I don’t think that’s legal.
When we were kids, the clump of trees outside the back door was particularly dense. There was a trail that went through the middle of it, if you ducked down. The effect on the inside was something close to being sheltered, hugged by the trees. It is where the Bull Dog fell into the cedar stump, where Mic AND Mark fell from 40 feet up. We called this place Jesus Land.
Not only was Jesus Land an appropriate moniker because Mic and Mark survived, but also because it was our ritual burial site. All of the pets, eventually coming to a physical end, were buried in Jesus Land. It is sacred space.
It still has a few cedars, now a half century older. The lower part is open, and the fence is visible. Old growth does that. The ground shadow area grows less and less dense as the forest matures. Humans may have cleared a bit too.
My ashes in Jesus Land? If the house is still in the family, that’s a rocking great idea. There will be plenty of dust to spread around to multiple locations, and it completes a cycle… just don’t tell the real estate people. Not great for the property value!
If you visit the Earth Sanctuary, and walk along the edges of the ponds, look up the hill to the other side. There is a cedar there. You might have to search for a moment or two. You will find it, the one that is perfect, the one that reminds you that I am present in the universe… with you, now, and forever. Just be still. And know…
I really should visit more often. The location of the Earth Sanctuary is somewhere between Langley and Freeland, maybe 15 minutes from the Clinton Ferry Terminal.
I love a good ride on the ferry, although it’s a bit creepy these days with no Titanic moments on the upper deck, and the inner benches half barricaded by red caution tape.
Maybe some other year or some other lifetime, I will make it an intention to venture on biweekly day trips. The yearly pass for the Sanctuary is only $35. The Ferry would be the biggest expense. There is a cafe nearby that creates incredible avocado toast. Definitely a trifecta of amazingness.
As we wandered the woods of the Earth Sanctuary, I was immersed in the experience of woodland scents and sounds. But my eyes would strategically drift away, searching. Which tree should it be? Where would I want my ashes to be dispersed? It sounds morbid. It was not.
The obvious choice, a cedar tree, left a lot of options. Certainly, the Earth Sanctuary houses far more deciduous trees than evergreens at this moment, but there is still a plethora of cedar to choose from.
In the first day of autumn outlook, I could see that many cedars overlook the ponds. Which one is the right one?
If you visit the Earth Sanctuary, and walk along the edges of the ponds, look up the hill to the other side. There is a cedar there. You might have to search for a moment or two. You will find it, the one that is perfect, the one that reminds you that I am present in the universe… with you, now, and forever. Just be still. And know…
I’m both perplexed and want to burst out in rolling laughter. I don’t care. I really don’t. I thought that choosing the spiritual location for ashes was a gift in itself, but I can choose a tree to represent me as well.
The Earth Sanctuary representative, Chuck, wrote several responses to my questions about choosing a tree from that particular forest for my ashes to “rest”. It all seems so silly, the way we talk about decomposition of the body, or placement of the ashes. Living as human is temporary. Being the true core of your being is permanent.
The body is disposable, and far more recyclable than a plastic milk bottle.
Apparently, when we visit Whidbey Island in the next two days, I can stop in to the Earth Sanctuary and pick a location. I’m both perplexed and want to burst out in rolling laughter. I don’t care. I really don’t. I thought that choosing the spiritual location for ashes was a gift in itself, but I can choose a tree to represent me as well.
I think an evergreen is more my style than a deciduous leaf tree. Something successful, that stands tall enough to see the sun, and creates a lot of oxygen to support the mammals. A hemlock? Known for its poetic poison. A fir? So, so, so many cones. The fir trees rain thousands of irritating cones on the lawn at Dad’s house every year. But in the forest, that is food, for the earth and for the small animals.
Today, before I am actually walking in the space, I think that the answer is cedar. The cedar tree is the spiritual representative of the north, of the elders, of those who have gone before us. It is the regional representative of longhouses, canoes, ropes and baskets.
The red cedar is known as “the tree of life”. Life continues. When I have stepped into death, I continue. I am here now. I will, in a sense, be here then.
“As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be…” (the Glory Be).
Although “dump the body” sounds like a movie line, that is about the exact amount of caring that I have about the remains of my earthly dwelling place. Cremate me and dump the body.
The wound is not healing. It impressively went to a verified four centimeter depth (or lack of depth) on Tuesday, and was back to seven again today, Friday. Regardless of how many times I ask “What else can I do?”, and get the answer, “You are doing it all”, I know there is a missing piece.
Something hidden needs to be healed. Something else needs to be completed. Where are the loose ends? What bows need tying? Completion.
The wound vac is off. I am cordless and empowered! The skin around the wound is dancing with joy (as it hated the wound vac and spent the entire time covered in rashy boils). Today I can feel its joy.
After a few tears of exasperation, I pushed a bit of completion.
Nyasha and Conrad legally witnessed my signature on Death with Dignity paperwork, that will likely be round filed because of my longevity. I called and left a message for Julie that it’s in the mail. Check.
And I booked a trip to Whidbey Island, another visit to the Earth Sanctuary and Langley, before my next wound packing appointment. In checking whether Earth Sanctuary has full access during Covid 19, I made an amazing discovery, my final resting place.
Although “dump the body” sounds like a movie line, that is about the exact amount of caring that I have about the remains of my earthly dwelling place. Cremate me and dump the body.
Earth Sanctuary provides the perfect ground… and they will mix the ashes with appropriate soil, and either sculpt me in to the spiritual nature preserve, or accompany those of you who want to add me to the ambiance! This is exciting. Another big box CHECKED.
The year before last year, my past beloved partner, Xamuel, died while biking to me for a date at the Buddhist monastery where I used to live. He was struck by a truck about two minutes away from me. He was 34; full of life, love, wisdom, and dreams. I was so in love with him
Indrayani Ananda
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Everything is constantly shifting and changing. We are just under the illusion that things stay the same. Like a river, the self is simply a flow of causes and conditions. When you try to hold onto it, it will slip through your fingers like water.
The entire cosmos is like this. Going, flowing, moving… never static. To the cosmos and the fundamental nature of existence, we are just particles among other particles mixing with each other, all together in one Spiritual Dharma body.
We never really leave each other because we are inherently eternally connected in our natures. The illusion is that we are separate individuals. So, when I have a thought of someone I’ve lost and love dearly, I close my bodily eyes, and open my spiritual eyes. My spiritual eyes move through the heart, my body, and outward….and reveal that my grandmother, my beloved Xamuel, and all others are within “me”… they are me.. we are each other. I know this may seem strange or difficult to experience, but underneath the layers we impose upon existence with our own minds lies this beautiful truth: you are not alone.
Japanese kanji universe | Universe Symbol Tattoo Oneness, universe , gaia symbol , tattoo … Find this Pin and more on Symbols by Jen Sandrock.
The Buddhas, Boddhisattvas, and all other enlightened beings are everywhere, in every mote of dust… in every atom.. in every multiverse contained within everything you see, hear, touch, smell, taste… there as protectors for guidance.. all participating in sublime pervasive Nirvana! Call to them as your own fundamental enlightened nature to help you enter the flow of The enlightened mind.. Amituofo .. Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva Mahasattva..
My grandmother to whom I was very close raised me, fed me, and loved me very much. She passed away unexpectedly last year from health issues. I continue to think of her most days and dream of her frequently. I often cry for her in my dreams. The loss of her really shook my Native family because she was our anchor, our greatest elder. She was the voice of our family with all her strength, integrity, and fierceness.
My mother continues to grieve the loss of her mother, my grandmother See’ei. When my grandmother passed away, I was in California while she was in Washington. I found out over phone that she died and couldn’t stop crying. On her behalf, I recited Buddhist sutras, mantras, and various other prayers for her journey ahead…
The year before last year, my past beloved partner, Xamuel, died while biking to me for a date at the Buddhist monastery where I used to live. He was struck by a truck about two minutes away from me. He was 34; full of life, love, wisdom, and dreams. I was so in love with him.
The day he died, we had planned to meet for falafel, fruit, veggies, and tea. I had prepared a special meal for us to have at my organic produce farm at the monastery. He was a mesoamerican farmer/gardener/seed keeper and I was so excited to show my farm to him. He never showed up that day.
I was so confused and sad. It did not make sense. Three days later, I found out from a friend who worked on the farm with me that his friend passed away and that he might not make it to the farm that day. I felt sorry for his loss.
We continued to talk about the farm, but something inside me wanted to ask him for his friend’s name. He told me his friend’s name was Xamuel. At the moment I realized that he was talking about my Xamuel, my whole reality fell apart. I had never experienced such pain before.
I grieved his loss so deeply for months. The hardest time was the first couple months. I felt like I was leaving my body because I did not want to stay on this planet anymore. In order to process my grief and help Xamuel on his journey, I recited sutras, mantras, prayers, and songs to the Buddhas, Boddhisatvas, protectors, my guru Master Hsuan Hua, and the higher nature.
You are never alone. There is no death. “No doubt you are crying because you don’t know where I am going, but if you knew you wouldn’t need to cry.” The Nirvana of Buddha. City of 10,000 Buddhas.
I had never cried so much. Fortunately, I had the support of some friends during this time as well. I would not have made it though without their support. The City of Ten Thousand Buddhas carried me through my grief. The whole community could feel my pain. They held me with their wisdom and compassion. I knew it was my spiritual job to accept guidance during that time and to try to be as patient as possible with my heart and mind.
For both my grandmother and Xamuel, I engaged in the standard 49 day after death devotional practice of Indigenous and Asian traditions. My Native ancestors like Buddhists engaged in selfless acts for the dead for weeks, months, or years after their bodily transition.
I followed in these traditions with daily vegan food offerings, giving gifts to others, donating to organizations, and as much mindful practices as possible. And, during these practices, I would shed fears and sadness that came from my mind. I transformed those thoughts into compassion, peace, and insight.
During the times I grieved the loss of these dearly beloved people, I reminded myself that everything is a test. And with this most challenging test of death can come insight and peace. Though it takes time, perseverance, self-compassion, and mindfulness, there is a true light at the end of the tunnel.
Every time I feel sadness from the loss of loved ones, I always know and feel that they are actually with me in Spirit. Don’t get me wrong, crying is great and heals, but rumination and spiraling can unnecessarily weigh one down. So, we can cry and move on to face the other mysteries and tests of our experiences.
Both my grandmother and Xamuel came to me in dreams. Xamuel expressed regret in one dream and in another he said his goodbye with love while his spiritual body floated into the universe to wherever he needed to go next.
My grandmother recently appeared in my dream. I was very sad to leave her as I usually am. She then hugged me and I felt her consciousness merge with mine into one Mind. As I transitioned into this physical body, I could still feel her in my heart and mind. Difficult to explain with words, but I know that I always carry her with me in my core nature.
Karmic Destiny. We meet people for our lessons, for a short time. Then they leave us when it is their time. This is beyond control. Everyone transitions. And, there is never perfect certainty when this will happen for ANYONE. The unexpected happens all the time when spiritual eyes are closed.
The experiences we have when we lose someone are experiences for growth. If we embrace physical death and accept it as part of life, then the insights of who we REALLY are are revealed. With gentleness, love, patience, and trust, we can all see into the unimaginable Ultimate reality…. interconnected, interpenetrating… free from suffering. All now, all together, all perfect. Mahaprajnaparamita! Rejoice in the perfection of Wisdom!
micheleplumbstowell.org 
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