A
Personal Eulogy
February
18, 2012
Have you
seen that girl who used to come around here?
She ran
with the wild dogs.
Hunted with
them to fill their howling jowls.
Licked
their wounds.
Do you
know that girl?
No. She
wasn’t your enemy.
She didn’t have any.
Innocently,
she saw the world and allowed it to be exactly what it was.
She was
like the moon.
A loyal
light in the darkness.
She was
fun but not funny.
She was
the one who politely asked you to consider the implications of your thoughts.
Even so,
her mind rebelled against the so called saints.
But her
heart knew something of the Gods.
You must remember her.
Every
strand of her hair smelled of lavender.
In lue of
an umbrella she carried her grandmother’s scarf.
She loved
figs in the summer.
Persimmons
in Autum.
Brussels-sprouts
in Winter.
And wild
grass in spring.
Often she
would stand in the center of a field
And close
her eyes to clearly hear and distinctly feel
Nature.
Have you
seen her there?
Maybe not
because the grass grew past her pony tail.
Or
perhaps because she found it nice to lay on the grass
On top the
watery earth.
She told
me: it smelled different there.
And
sometimes there, she could feel the whole love of the whole world.
She would
stay there and pray for her clothes to soak up the water and the love.
Until shivering
cold next to worms
With
insects crawling in her hair.
Then she was soaked in her favorite
things.
Have you seen
her walking wet with mud, smiling?
She may
have reminded you of young John Muir
With
biscuits and a journal in her pockets.
She was that girl!
If you saw
her you might think she lived in a timeless space,
Fully present
in every timeless moment,
There, to
offer every speck of herself to you.
And I
believe she did.
There was
no fear of death in her eyes, like most mortals have.
She was a
beautiful arrangement of flesh and bones
With a
peculiarly small shadow.
She was
just herself.
Not
selfish or self-proud.
She
cooked most meals with rosemary and sage.
Do these
recollections pertain to you?
Or am I
the only one who remembers?
If you
met her but once, you wouldn’t have forgotten her.
Because she
was the girl whose spirit held yours and it was whole
She was
like a teacher and a mother and a wizard.
Yet, she
was just a girl.
Do you
remember she who would sit there,
Reading a book
Or
writing one.
She would
lean over her cup of tea
And blow ripples
on the surface
To cool it
And see the cosmos in her cup.
Did you
ever sit down with her?
On a
winter afternoon?
Even in a
simple moment with her,
Even in
the city,
In an instant
you can feel like
You have
journeyed to the underground crystal cave to taste the wonder of peace
And then when
you return to touch the crisp air
You breathe
warmth across the Earth.
With her,
have you done that?
Or have
you seen her when she starred at the day’s sky?
I imagine
she was dreaming of being a tuna fish flying with a sparrow.
Yet I
wonder was she dreaming the sky
Or was
the sky dreaming her?
I
remember how in love she was
With
every day and every kind of life.
Then—I
don’t know why this would come as a surprise—
But then,
one day she fell into a different love
Unlike
any that ever steeped in and out of her soul before.
It was
with a particularly gentle human.
With him
she learned love’s secrets.
On a July
day she stood with him on the Russian
River bed
In a
single breath she vowed to be a wife and a mother.
Were you
a witness there?
She
married her Orpheus.
Together
they battled Hades and won.
They lay
down in the wild grass, soaked up love and rolled in mud.
They
climbed the ice-capped mountains.
Canoed
through vernal pools.
Scratched
poetry on paper.
Sat down
with the monks.
They ran
across the world telling tales of fairness and love.
They rang
gongs and sang prayers–for peace.
They
patched and painted the holes in time and in the sky.
And their
children joined them.
All the
while, she combed their hairs,
Aloed
their burns,
Washed
their feet,
Mended
their clothes.
Kissed
their cheeks.
Have you
seen her in her days of motherhood?
She gave
her children what her parents gave her:
Freedom
to take risks,
Encouragement
to accomplish anything,
And lived
the example of
Doing
good,
Being
True,
Loving
hard,
And
believing in better.
Sometimes
I hear a voice say, “Find me.”
I know it’s
her.
Where has
she gone?
I must
find her.
Eventually—or
if she has not already,
She will
meander the English countryside,
Sail the English Channel,
Cross
over to glacier caves,
Then dig
to another side of the Earth
Just to
bump into a mustard bottle and decide upon another route.
Eventually,
we may find her swimming in the sky
And
riding horseback on the moon.
We may find her there.
Where
ever she is, I know she is free.
Like a
bubble,
A breeze.
Yes, that girl, who used to come around here.
I suppose
I know where to find her.
If the
body is a vessel for memories,
In my
body, my memories hold her.
She’s a timeless
being in me.
And your memory of me, and her in me, are also
carried in you.
We all
inherit her
An
archetype, passed on to every generation to come from each of us.
She is
part of this history and our future.
By being
gone, we’ve come to the end.
She is
here in me.
And in
you.
And in
that sky and rock and grass.
Here she is.
