East of the Sun | West of the Moon

fling open barndoors of the heart pray fully surrendered whole self exposed to all the directions the sky, the earth the sun, the moon the whole of my being voice, gaze, blood, bones relish the relief Yayoi Kusama infinity room, NYBG Halloween 2021 all the while more is revealed ripples and waves circles and cycles language beyond words knowledge past wisdom in our veins the stories flow with every breath shifts and change gifts and choice the law of life for each and all beat as one savor the wholeness stripped and pared down full and heavy with bounty the wind sweeps hearts clean the soil transforms and gives birth we are born and live til we die we are made of all this savor the wholeness melt into letting go breath in the light breath out our love this we pray

It's been a year of being a grief doula to all too many friends and strangers who have lost a beloved. Young and old. Sudden or long suffering. The men die and the women have to somehow forge on.  What do I know about loss and grief? I knock on wood like some triggered spastic that I have yet to lose someone I cannot live without. I'm the one who's afraid of going to a wake. I find myself stuck in the threshold like some scarred quivering rabbit.  In the Orient where I originated we have the age old practice of professional mourners who diligently wail the spirit of a dearly departed off to the divine realms. Away from the living so we can grieve and live in peace. Never to be haunted by any lingering ghost of disappointment over some unfinished regret or sorrow.  A practice of countless past dynasties now imbedded in our DNA and mutated by new technology. For folks who love to celebrate with, song, dance, staged performances, and karaoke it's not so strange then that w