| Coyote's Grandfather dying.|
From American Indian Inspiration
And that is just the beginning of his new journeys....
While I was working on this series of paintings, I would meditate and invite the input of the spirits of the Pomo elders who had shared their sacred teaching stories with the writers who collected them in the 1930s, asking them to guide my imagery. I worked in my study in San Diego, California, where the temperatures got up into the 90s very often in summer, and we did not have air conditioning in that room. While I was working on these paintings I would often get very cold. A drop in temperature often indicates the presence of spirit(s). Cool beans, huh?
Among the many subjects I've studied in depth over the years, including the medicinal uses of herbs and spices, Native American culture, history and prehistory (Atlantis and Lemuria), flora and fauna of the areas in which I've lived, art, business, technology, and distance learning in higher education, being able to put the various levels of reality, including what we call "death" into manageable contexts has been an area of very deep study.
Several things happened to me when I was young that catapulted me on a 40-year quest to seek information about the state of being we call death. My journey has been fruitful and very helpful in putting the experience of being "mortally" human into a context that is based in LOVE, not fear.
I will relate some of the things that happened that sent me on my quest - not easy reading - maybe best saved for daylight hours.
When I was about 9 years old we lived in Wimbledon, England, and one of our neighbors was kidnapped. It happened at night and I heard glass breaking in the night and heard a single scream and though I told my parents about it they did not listen to me. At that time we had two old greenhouses in our yard along with a peach orchard, an apple orchard, and a lot of ancient bushes. I thought the glass breaking had happened in one of the old greenhouses as strangers went across the yard doing things they should not be doing.
I could not get anyone to listen to me about my sense that something was wrong. Soon the newspapers came out with information about Mrs. Muriel McKay, who was kidnapped for ransom, but the kidnappers had gotten the wrong person, and I remember saying when I was little that "they chopped her up and fed her to the pigs, all except for her teeth." The kidnappers were caught and jailed. I had looked for information on this event before, but couldn't find any until tonight, and I didn't realize they never figured out what happened to the body. Probably too late for them to check now - but if they did they'd likely find her teeth in the soil on the kidnappers' farm where the pigs were kept or the other farm mentioned near that area.
Another experience I had with death was that I had fallen in love with a young man in high school, and we dated for about three years. You know that with all those raging hormones and all that youthful beauty we were bound to explore our sexuality. He was a beautiful, earthy person - part Native American, with gorgeous black eyes and long black hair. We went hiking all the time, skinny dipping in waterfalls some, and had a gentle, loving relationship. He went off to Colombia, South America for a vacation during our last summer together. When he tried to secure a native guide to take him hiking in the mountains, the guide put his hand on my friend's chest and said he would not take him into the mountains. He said "you have to return home, there is life in your heart." Yep, I was pregnant at the tender age of 17. Nope my parents did not let me have the child.
My mother put me in the car along with her best friend and drove to Montclair, New Jersey where I was made to have a legal abortion. "We will not let you ruin your life," my parents had declared. (Oh ye of little faith and less help.) Over the years I have come to the conclusion that this death was my responsibility. I could have run away, but I didn't.
The thing about this that is interesting is that later, when I was married, we didn't use birth control for several years. I wanted a child very much at that time. I would not feel complete, somehow, until I had kept that broken promise of providing a body, a vehicle, for the spirit that was seeking me as a mother. After that abortion my arms felt empty, they ached for a long time. It would have been a true lovechild and who the hell were they to make that kind of decision for me? Why were there no conversations? I had a brain full of intelligence and lots of strength and enthusiasm for hard work!
One day I had a conversation with this little spirit in my car. I was driving along and I just felt the urge to talk to it. I apologized for the broken promise. I welcomed its arrival if it should choose to come to me. And guess what, very soon after that conversation I became pregnant. I told my son of this when he was older and teased him about making him wait. I do not take abortion lightly - but I do believe in a woman's right to choose. And I revere the Native American teachings, which tell us we can communicate with incoming spirits, we can welcome them even before they arrive. We can plan together. Many Native cultures had a very "prayerful" way of inviting the spirit of a child into their lives. In one of the books I have on Native American culture it describes how Grandmothers could make adult clothing for those who were not yet born, and it would fit perfectly - because they knew how to "dream" the spirit coming. Dreaming is one of the ways of communication between worlds or realities. (Though there are other types of dreams too.) We are not taught this! I think we should be!
Another thing happened when I was in college at Florida State University, and this is outlined in my blog post Life and Death, Art as Therapy. This was when the serial killer Theodore Bundy sat in the bar staring at me while I was working as a waitress. After a couple of hours he came up to me and asked if he could take me to breakfast when I got off work. As my post describes, I could feel the negative energy radiating from his body, and I walked out of the bar before my shift was up and never went back. He raped and killed several of our sorority girls a few days later. He was eventually caught and executed. I dropped out of school and went home to New Jersey, then moved to California very shortly after that.
When I was a newlywed, living in beautiful California, I shared a small apartment with my first husband and I loved to cook for him. One evening I popped a lovely fat chicken into the oven and put a bottle of wine on ice to chill, hopped into the car, and drove down the street to the office where he was working. He was due to finish up in about 1/2 an hour but I was so excited about everything I went to give him a hug and tell him I was looking forward to his arrival at home (ah, newlyweds).
The late afternoon sun was shining through the huge picture windows of his office and because he had no customers (he sold insurance) and his boss was holed up in his own office, we stole a quick hug and kiss and twinkled our eyes at each other. "I'll be home soon," he said, and I strolled out the front of the building into the soft breezes, across the parking lot, and got into my car to head home and finish making salad and rice.
As I turned on the ignition I looked across the street at the densely packed little houses that bordered the road, each with its own porch. Sidewalks lined the edges of small fluffy green yards, and I watched two little boys playing kickball in their yard while their family sat talking on their porch. The boys must have been about 7 or 8 years old.
Like a slow motion movie, the ball went into the street and the two little boys ran after it, just as a cadillac cruised into view. I heard the screech of its brakes and saw one of the little boys dragged into pieces under it, and all of the family members running down from the porch, wailing in anguish.
I went into complete and utter shock. I felt paralyzed and could not move. I could not breathe.
And then the gift came.
I heard a voice, but it was not outside of me. It was in me and all around me and it said "Don't cry for me for I am not unhappy." What a funny little statement - not the type of language I would put together. Kind of formal. Very polite. I knew it was the little boy, who was not a boy, not in the spirit world - he was full grown and ancient.
And here's the thing. Along with this voice there descended upon me a huge abiding sense of peace. It was like no peace I had ever felt before. This peace stayed with me for days and days.
In this trancelike peace, I pulled the car out of the parking space, went around to the back of the parking lot, and drove up the road to my little home.
When my husband arrived home (later than we had imagined because of the police and the events across the road) I told him about the voice I heard and the incredible sense of peace I was enveloped in and I felt some urgency to contact the parents of the little boy to let them know that somehow he was all right. My husband would not let me contact them. I wanted to write about it. I wanted to tell people, but he said they would think I was crazy. Well, it happened! And it was amazing!
When my father died, I stood at his casket next to my brother to pay my respects. My husband was with us in the funeral home. My husband is a plant scientist - very grounded in factual information. After we left the funeral home he said to me "Were you and your brother smoking in the funeral home?" I said, "Certainly not, why?" He said because he saw a white mass around us and couldn't figure out what it was. (Hi Dad.) From what I understand, spirits often stay close to the material world until after their funerals. During this time they try to comfort loved ones. Their greatest frustration is that because their loved ones are so caught up in emotion, they have a hard time reaching them. Their vibrations are so high that we need to be quiet, in a higher vibration mode ourselves in order to feel their love.
When my Grandfather died, he came to me, my sister, and my brother as we were each quietly studying in our homes. To me he said (telepathically), "Take care of your mother." To my sister he said, "Straighten up." And I can't remember what he said to my brother - I should ask him. We could tell it was my Grandfather by the fragrance in our rooms, and the very peaceful sense of his presence. My Grandfather was one of the most peaceful people you'd ever have the good fortune to meet. Whenever I have to do something that seems scary, like drive over a bridge across water way high up or something I ask my Grandfather to fill me with peace and he does.
So now it's in my face. My beautiful daughter has passed into this world we come from, and I know enough about it to encourage her on her journey and to ask her to help me get through the hard parts here. She does. It's like much of her passing she lovingly orchestrated. Of all the clothing she owns, the one dress that is my favorite was draped over her desk chair when I entered her bedroom. In her kitchen, there were two cans on the counter, olives, for those of you who've read my previous posts, you know about the significance of olives in particular, and refried beans. When my children were young and I was raising them as a single Mom for 8 years we would often eat quesadillas made with refried beans and olives. It was like she was saying "I remember, I love you." Maybe I'm reading into things - even so, I find it kind of delightful.
I cry. I cry so much my diaphragm feels like I've done a thousand situps and I wonder if I should see a doctor. Understanding and knowing don't take away the pain of separation, but they ease it so that it does not overtake your life and leave you a shell, useless to other children and family members who are in your care. It removes the concern about your loved one's well-being regardless of how they departed.
The hardest parts of the pain with those of us close to Jess seem to be connected to our sense of responsibility. In going through the passing of my daughter, I've found that most of my work is in comforting others.
We all ask ourselves, did we do the right thing?
Knowing and understanding means we develop respect for the person's choices, dignity, and independence. It means we do everything we can to help them to be comfortable. We can try to secure medical care (if wanted), to love them through their experience of passing, and let them "live" the way they want to as it unfolds. Young people rarely have a "living will," but I would recommend it for everyone because it eases this sense of responsibility when there's confusion around what should be done medically.
Death has been riding on my shoulder for a long time, as it does with many people.
I think many people are afraid of it and they stay and stay here on Earth way past time for them to go home. We give them operations that keep the body functioning, but the quality of life is gone. My grandmother had several pacemakers put in for her heart over a succession of years, and she was for four years without sight, she would not put her dentures in, she could not see, she could not hear, she stayed in bed all day and night and I'm not sure that this is quite the way things should be. I don't understand why we fight death and try to "save" people. I truly believe that if we knew how wonderful and expansive life is in our true home, we'd all go jump off a bridge. I'm pretty sure this is part of why we don't know - why there's a "veil." In some of the readings I've come across, it is suggested that the ideal way to die is to know when you are truly finished and to be able to lie down and peacefully facilitate the disconnection of the silver cord that attaches us to our bodies.
I truly believe that if we knew more we would not be so vulnerable to the machinations of the material world, and we would love more easily, more openly, and more gently while we're here.
We "can" know more - really good information is available and accessible, but many of us are afraid that knowing will not fit into the context of whatever religion we've adopted (it fits easily into all love-based religions), and we need to learn to work at purpose in our own lives, as spirits being human by listening and tuning in to the guidance that is there for us, inside us, that comes from higher sources.
The work I'm doing now to help my human/emotional aspect settle is to meditate, and do a few past life regressions, to get the events of my daughter's life into a larger context that I can understand. I work with Michael Newton's material because he has a track record that's based in love and empowerment for those of us "left behind." I think this is healthy.
It doesn't stop me from crying hard. It doesn't take away the sadness. But it does give me a whole new way of thinking about and relating with Jess. One of the questions I had was "How do I have a relationship with my child now?" I can respect her things, touch them, enjoy photos and memories, I can "air-talk" to her, but I like better the soft, sure connection of our minds and hearts, which continues. I like pulling an Angel card after asking her "How are you doing?" and getting sweet answers that make perfect sense. I like when she fills me with her peace and love, which she can only do when I am not in the chaos of doubt and emotional anguish.
Our journey continues in-between and among laundry, cooking, walking my pups, being out in the world that she used to be part of, my work, my play. I feel a kinship with her. I am proud of her. I say "Good job! Rock on!" And I know she hears me. And I do other things as I wait for my outward focus to strengthen. There is something happening down inside that takes time. A settling. A letting go of guardianship. An acceptance. But it is not the acceptance of her absence, just the acceptance of her growth and the vibrational difference in our realities.
If I had not had all of the earlier death experiences, and if I had not studied and explored the various levels of realities, not just what my own culture believes, but what other, perhaps wiser and gentler cultures know, I think I would be absolutely mired in misery. But I don't feel miserable - I feel excited for her, and kind of excited for us all.
I am very grateful that life is much bigger than we've been taught. Thank goodness, else we'd all be bored to tears.