Earth’s Affection: Part One
Here’s another synchronicity for you, and we’re gonna answer the call….
This period of time between Dad’s death and his funeral and inurnment seems like it’s expanding in duration. It is beginning to feel “forever ago” when we were with him as he drew in his final breath and it is beginning to feel “forever ‘til” when we will celebrate his life in the traditional Catholic manner—the whole “shindig” of vigil, rosary, Mass, eulogy, and private family graveside service. Important rituals those—and important that we engage, still, in those rituals, cloaked as they are in a religion’s liturgical relics and somber ceremony despite more of us practicing less the dogmatic faith from which our near ancestors, including Dad, used to practice so faithfully. It’s okay that we’re becoming faithful to a different way of Soul and presence—as long as we do (stay faithful to it) and as long as we hold dear to ritual, relationship, and memory. And it is more than okay that new rituals are created, even ones involving strawberry ice cream, for they, too, can be imbued with the Soul of relationship, memory, and remembrance. (Stay tuned, I promise).
Memory.
We are “still” two weeks away from our final moments with the remnants of Dad’s earthly presence, this now dust we will soon return to the dust of the landscape he loved. Once those are securely placed in their rightful place just as he designated, we all will take a cleansing breath and begin anew, in gratefulness, for each new day that presents itself to us with Dad as a new spiritual presence in our lives. But memory….
And memories.
This liminal time we find ourselves in now is steeped in memory as we: recall memories of growing up on the farm; reconnect now with past friends who worked along side us on the farm or knew us as we were growing up and are now sorry we are experiencing the death of the man who gave us life; look through family albums and photos and reminisce; plan with church officials the vigil, mass, and burial; write the obituaries and eulogies; and read them again, and again, and again. And relish in the comments, cards, and notes others are sending us that are reminding us that others now too are fonts of memory of our Dad—each note, card, and reflection a living artifact and testament that Dad lives on in the hearts and minds of others. Thank you all for keeping us in your hearts during these tender moments of transition, transfiguration, early grief, and renewal.
Memory.
And synchronicity. When one is open to experiencing the wonders and abundance of the Universe, the Universe will always respond. Sometimes in unexpected ways. Sometimes in gobsmacking glorious ways. And sometimes in rather mundane ways. If you are lucky enough to be paying attention, and understand, and believe, then you can bring into the world a wonderful sense of awe and beauty that didn’t exist before, provided you are able to interpret the Universe’s intention through the various “coincidentals” that aren’t coincidences in the least. These messages from a deeper source are simply evidence of a deep and innate interconnection we all are to each other, to the 10,000 things in the world of form, and to the Soul that invisibly surrounds us all at all times—the Anima Mundi. That is synchronicity. And it is poetic in its form and presence.
Right now, we are living a poem—brought about by the wonder of synchronicity, the death of our Dad, the words of John O’Donohue, and the memory of the landscape our Dad loved and worked, and from which he, and we, were born. As it so happens, I’ve been stalled in my reading of “Beauty: The Invisible Embrace” by John O’Donohue (Harper: Perennial, 2004). I didn’t understand, although I thought I did, why I have been stalled in my reading (okay, yes, I’ve been a little preoccupied while also not sleeping so great). But now I think I know. No… now I DO know the reason for being stalled when and where in the book I was when I was compelled to put it down for a bit.
Kristin and I are trying to get out to walk more—we typically took Sammy out for walks along the south shore of Lake Stevens very regularly, and then we moved Dad into our house. So those walks virtually ended as I couldn’t comfortably be away from Dad for more than a half hour at a time and that walk is usually over an hour depending upon how often Sammy has to explore away from “the beaten path.” The walks are for him, anyway, so Sammy gets to dictate the pace, always—it’s up to Kristin and me to allow Sammy his sensory wonders and explorations but to also enjoy the walk through HIS senses and perceptions too because he is experiencing a different path from the one we walk. A wonderful metaphor, that.
Most of the time, I do not listen to music while I walk preferring to keep more of my own senses tuned in to the beauty that surrounds me—especially on that walk that meanders through quiet neighborhoods, along paved paths, next to views of a glorious body of water, and amid and under beautiful trees. And ‘effin noisy traffic! (but let’s not spoil the images I’m trying to create! A walk doesn’t have to be spoiled by human-made noise and drama—that’s a choice we make.). But lately, I have been listening to a series of lectures by John O’Donohue—seemed fitting of late to engage in two things simultaneously to invite Soul more deeply in: the walk and the poetic language of the philosopher/poet O’Donohue in a podcast series of his (Longing and Belonging: The Complete John O’Donohue Audio Collection. Sounds True media.). Here’s the synchronicity of it all:
Just the other day, the specific lecture I was listening to was on the beauty and memory of the landscape of our origin. Because of the Dad tasks I had been engaged with (obituary, eulogy, planning, organizing, reflection), and the mere fact this is what one naturally does upon the death of a dear family member, I had been thinking a lot about Dad and the places he inhabited in his world over the span of his life. Especially of course, the farm places (interestingly, they weren’t all farm places). O’Donohue’s spoken words were inspiring in that he also intimates that, not only do we retain “forever memories” of the places of our co-habitation, but the landscapes themselves ALSO retain certain memories of us! This resonated so strongly with me that the immediate emotions conjured were almost overwhelming. To think that the places I’ve lived, as I’ve been recalling them through memories of my Dad, might also now be longing for me, be longing for my Dad, was one of those moments when everything almost audibly clicked into place. “Of COURSE that’s true!” I think I might have even stopped walking despite’s Sammy’s impatient, relentless tugs. When an invisible, awe-inspiring Truth is uncovered, time stands still for a few moments. For me, for those few moments, time stood still. And even now, I seem to be experiencing time in an entirely new and subtle way.
There’s more. I went back to the book I was stalled in. O’Donohue’s book on Beauty. I was stalled in the middle of chapter two: “Where Does Beauty Dwell? The Affection of the Earth for Us.” This was EXACTLY the same content of written material that he had based his podcast lecture on. And I had stopped reading at exactly that point! When synchronicities line up and present themselves like that, one better pay attention. To let, or have let them pass by without nary a notice would have been an obscene crime against the moral integrity and dignity of the Universe and the landscape from which we were raised. Because I think that was how they choose to communicate their longing to me. I don’t think, had I not noticed nor paid attention, that we would have ever been forgiven. I know I wouldn’t have forgiven myself for not having seen my way through to the end of this path we were now being led.
I’m going to intentionally end part one of this two part post with the entirety of O’Donohue’s passage—and then look forward to writing Part Two of this two part post to share with you what Clary, Trevor, and I are going to do about it. Fact is, we HAVE to do something about it. The landscape is speaking now, to me, from an ancient place heretofore previously foreign to me. But that place feels beautiful.
It feels like Soul.
THIS is why I was stalled in my reading:
Haunting that, right? Utterly and devastatingly haunting. And O’Donohue follows THAT up with this:
“We were once enwombed in the earth and the silence of the body remembers that dark inner longing. Fashioned from clay, we carry the memory of the earth. Ancient, forgotten things stir within our hearts, memories from the time before the mind was born. Within us are depths that keep watch. These are depths that no words can trawl or light unriddle.”
p. 33
Just as we never forget the places we’re from, the Earth remembers too. The Earth, the landscapes of our origins, and its clay and compost, retains an affection for us, but I believe ONLY IF we have reciprocated with a commensurate level of love and care. JUST like my Dad did for over 50 years! And when he was done with his actual form of farm love, loving upon the Earth by farming it (sorry weeds!), he NEVER forgot his love of the work, of the landscape, of the farm—that is, in and of itself, just another different but just as powerful a form of love: remembrance.
We are living this poem and this poem will be incomplete if we do not allow the landscapes of Dad’s past to also have their final goodbyes so they, too, can put to rest, and close their own circles of memory of, my Dad—a man I now know and realize THEY remember and still long for, because he loved so much the land he grew up in, sweat in, cried in, laughed in, bled in, and will be buried in. THAT will be the next post whenever that post will be complete and sent. Notice I’m outside the typical Friday timeline of sendings—like I said, time is subtly different right now. I’m not certain it will ever return to the kind of time it was before this time called “now” arose.
After this walking, and reading, and listening, and recollecting, there was such an immediate and deep understanding in me, after these moments of synchronicity gifted from the Universe, that the landscapes and clay and soil of my Dad’s past have been longing for him and experiencing their own form of grief following his death. The land’s own and ancient recognition that the Soul (my Dad) who existed to respect it, the land and landscape of farm, no longer is and will no longer tend to, or remember, or Elder others, to what it means to love the land so much that you can devote your entire life to its existence, and wished you had never left. And love every single minute of that devotion. THAT was my Dad.
And my Dad has died.
And the land is sad.
And I now understand…the land is grieving too.
Is it odd for you to read that I heard and felt its sorrow in the marrow of my bones once I understood how to hear it?
Wait ‘til you see what we did with all this in Part Two.
Services for Dad in Moxee, WA.
Wow, O’Donohue’s words are haunting and gives a lot to ponder. Who knew that the landscapes we've inhabited also retain certain memories of us! Makes a lot of sense actually. And I scoured the web for proverbs that may have similar sentiments. Here are 3 that I found relevant:
Malagasy Proverb: "The earth is God’s bride — she feeds the living and cherishes the dead." This echoes O'Donohue's words (or vice versa).
These 2 proverbs combine to capture what you described as "The Earth, the landscapes of our origins, and its clay and compost, retains an affection for us, but I believe ONLY IF we have reciprocated with a commensurate level of love and care. JUST like my Dad did for over 50 years!"
Kenyan Proverb: "Treat the earth well. It was not given to you by your parents. It is loaned to you by your children." and this other one:
Chinese Proverb: "He who cheats the earth will be cheated by the earth."
So, Kert, if O'Donohue is to be believed, and if there is any wisdom in these 3 proverbs, the bond that your dad forged with the earth in life remains intact. May the rest of us, whether we feel we have green thumbs or not, remember that we have the earth in our lifetime on loan from our children. Hence, we have to treat it right. Peace and comfort to you!