I
was blessed to spend the weekend at a "no-frills" meditation retreat
at the Howell Nature Center with nine others. The format for the weekend is
silent practice. In fact, you have precious little free time, but I found amazing freedom.
The
schedule mixes sitting meditation with active meditation, and much of the
weekend was cold and rainy, so I practiced walking meditation up and down the
stairs, sometimes with my eyes open, and sometimes with them closed; sometimes
going backwards with eyes closed. It was my version of being led on a trust
walk, only there was no other doing the leading.
During the Friday
evening opening I learned that a woman I had met on two previous meditation
retreats had died in March. I remember her as a wonderful spirit. I knew she
was undergoing treatment for breast cancer but I admit that I was stunned to
hear of her transition.Godspeed, Shelia....
I kept my phone plugged in, watching for text
messages from my friend Carol, who was bedside by her 27 year-old daughter,
Lizzie. (See previous blog) I knew the family had been called together and the process of easing
Lizzie off life-support had begun.
On
Sunday morning, the weather was cool but it had stopped raining, so I went out-of-doors for my walking
meditation. As I turned the corner, coming out of the parking lot, following the "wrong way" signs,
I saw this amazing piece of art: a single heart-shaped leaf was floating in a
mud puddle. The puddle was surrounded by gravel, each piece seemingly having
been placed there by some artist for its sheer aesthetic value. The tree silently
standing watch had been reflected in the water in such a way you could imagine
you were seeing the arteries from that heart.
It
was so beautiful, it almost took my breath away.
I
had the immediate knowing, "Lizzie is free."
For
sure, much of my weekend was tinged with the humble gratitude for my own life.
I was reminded of the answer my friend Rabbi Rami Shapiro provided in his
column (Roadside Assistance for the Spiritual Traveler) to the question, "What
happens when I die?"
Where does an ice cube go in a tub of warm
water? You are the cube, God is the water. For a while you seem separate from
the water, but eventually you melt – you die – and discover that you, too, are
water. Have fun being a cube; just don’t forget that all cubes are water, and
everything is God.
I
had previously shared with Carol another of Rami's columns about our transition from this life:
Imagine that the universe is a rope and you,
[and Lizzie], and all things are knots in that rope. Each knot is unique, and
all knots are the rope. When we die our knot unties, but the rope that is our
essence remains unchanged: we become what we already are.
Life after death is the same as life before
death: the rope knotting and unknotting. The extent to which you identify with
a knot is the extent to which you grieve over its untying. The extent to which
you realize that the knot is the rope is the extent you can move through your
grief into a sense of fearless calm.
For me, the rope is God, the source and
substance of all reality. When [Lizzie] dies she relaxes into her true nature,
and realizes who she always was and is: God. I believe this realization comes
at death regardless of who we are or how we live.
As
I pulled into my driveway, this message popped in from Carol, "Lizzie made a
peaceful transition around 2:45 pm CDT. Her husband (AJ), his mom (Linda), Lizzie's older
sister (Amanda), and I were there holding her hands." Godspeed, beautiful
Lizzie...
Because
I was alert to messages from Carol, I had my iPhone with me on my walking meditation. I am so thankful
the sacredness of nature's artwork was captured to be shared....
