Sunday, February 27, 2011


Dear WEb,
I am not sure what to write. There is much to write/record...but what is here right now that wants to be written?

"Through a keyhole of a needle, you must pass through all alone..." Chris Williamson's lyrics

I am approaching this keyhole through a needle. I can feel the constriction that squeezes me inside and out. I get waves of nausea and a warble sensation that makes me close my eyes because I feel like the ground is shifting and I may pass out or throw up. My class is more intense-the days are moving towards my birthday--towards THE anniversary--relations seem to be intensifying so much i go in and out of not recognizing myself, not knowing where I stand, who I am. The ground is shifting beneath me. Today during an Authentic Movement session, I let my body tell me a story: my hands began digging a hole in the ground...digging, digging, digging. I scattered the dirt between my legs like a dog would, preparing a place to bury a bone. Instead, this hole was a place to yell to Phoenix, to wail more grief, to bury myself away from complication, consuming complication, raw energy that consumes my attention, my focus and demands attention/action, be it emails, phone calls etc. So, I silently scream into this hole I've dug, then move around it and place my cheek and ear to the opening, listening, feeling for some something. Is it solace? Is it assurance that I will be ok? That everything I love will be ok?

Sometimes it feels like way too much to be in this world, even with all the love and support so within reach, beside me, behind me, everywhere. It's almost like my body cannot sustain this intensity. My breath cannot take in enough air, my heart cannot find a slower pace...I am aging too fast. Like those time-lapse photos where the image's natural change that usually takes days of increments, is speeded up to seconds. What's the hurry? I ask Her. I feel too much pressure. Like others know who I am and I cannot see what/who they see. I know I am not ordinary, that's for sure. But who am I Becoming through this passage I must pass through all alone?

Yes, alone. Without Phoenix.
Chris sings back: "It's a tale of Transformation, it's a tale of coming Home."
I respond: "Coming home to who?!! I do not recognize Myself/Home without my Beloved. No matter how much my life seems to be going on, how much I seem to be going on with the Loss. I am fundamentally missing Myself/Home with Phoenix." No one but me will ever understand that and all will eventually give up trying to convince me otherwise. It/I am a lost cause. I will never heal this. No matter what Good has come. And much has. I do not deny that. Miracles and Goodness. And...this is irreparable. Some things are. I cannot be saved from that truth.

Me

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Through the dead leaves of last year....

Dear WEb,
There is much to say and not much time to say it. I've not written because there is so much unfolding quickly that I can hardly process it. What got me to you this morning is the date: 2/22/11. I always take note of numbers like this--doubles and especially double 2's.

Several days ago, I was readying to go to a difficult appointment with my partner. Behind me I heard a rustling of leaves. It wasn't particularly breezy out so it caught my attention because it rose out of a stillness. I turned around and looked out the window which happened to be where Phoenix is buried. There on his site remained the uncovered altar I created in December with his 'bones'. I had covered it up over the winter with boughs of evergreens and just the day before it felt like time to remove those and "clear the way" (though I didn't know what that meant). So there I was looking down at this site and not seeing anything near by that would have made that rustling sound. i let my gaze remain there for a bit, scanning the site, his bones, the circle of stones...and then I see a single yellow crocus. There are no words to comment on the emotion with this. I know I planted each one of those in the fall--it was a ritual of promises. So, it's no surprise they would sprout...well, not really no surprise. And...to see that first one. Well. It felt like a promise kept.

Yesterday, a sister and I sat by the pond. This is the sister who helped me bury Phoenix last March. She was the only one I would allow to lay beside him (take my place beside him there on the grass in the sunshine) the day after when I sat in vigil with his beloved body. I asked her to sing to him and she did. She had been his caretaker for many years when my partner and I would leave on vacation. I trusted her completely. We used to laugh because Phoenix was so smitten with her; we used to say he had such a crush on her! I allowed this woman to witness me in my rawest state that day after Phoenix was shot. She saw me wail, she saw me growl and pull my hair like a mad woman. And we are still friends.

So, yesterday when we were talking there by the pond, I heard a rustling of leaves behind me. I glanced behind me and saw one of those sweet whirlwinds of a few leaves curl by. I watched in silence and awe, pointed it out to my sister and the words came right out: "There's Phoenix." We watched him through the leaves dance by and disappear. Did I feel Phoenix? No. I just knew it was Phoenix. My Beloved. And I am sure it was my Beloved who moved behind me in the leaves in order to get me to turn around and see the first promise returned in that exquisite yellow crocus.

There is so much more...and...this is Everything....for now.
Love,
Me

Friday, February 18, 2011

Raw Life and Death

Dear WEb and Phoenix,
How do I find myself in this moment? There has been so much this week and last that has been magical, intense, enlivening, hard, blood and guts hard, and so much more. What I'm remembering is an image of a blue jay...this is hard...a blue jay who's been killed...she has wisps of feathers in the tip of her beak and her feathers are scattered in a huge circle behind her still body. These feathers are the fluff of her, the downy, airy feathers that insulate her. The scene is surreal, dream-like. The slight breeze is lifting these feathers up into the air every so often. She is on her back, wings spread out beside her, her head tilted down and her belly exposed, lungs, heart, etc bright red and watery. She and some creature fought to the death, her death. Her beak holds wisps of the attacker's feathers. And her body speaks of surrender.

A. and I stumbled on this site several days ago. It was awe-some. I was in awe, totally. This was a kind of death that, yes, was violent and predatory. Though finding her like this brought awe to my heart. Life and death in its rawest form. I didn't feel revolted. I didn't want to turn away or cover her. We sat with her. I went inside and retrieved some sage to burn as we sat with her. Later we placed roots around her from a stalk of bamboo nearby that had been uprooted! (I know! uprooted!) This was our honoring ritual for this Being.

And even later in the day, I came outside and suddenly 10 blue jays flew over to the trees near where we found her. They squawked and cried for a sustained period of time. I could hardly believe it. A. called me just as this was happening. It was truly astounding. I/We were witnessing a ritual/honoring by this beloved blue jay's People who came for her.

So, how am I in this moment on the WEb! Whew...that says it all. Wide open, surrounded by my People, full of Life and full of Death. And how does all this fit with Phoenix and me? What are the non-trite words to say? I don't know. I hate language for this reason. It's wordless. At least with the words we have....

I am in Love. Totally, in Love. Even with the gut splitting violence. (now, i'm not saying that 'all's good' bullshit. there's so much that is NOT good or ok with me. so much. ) I am ok with death right now. Strangely ok. For now. What else could I want? Exhaling.

Love,
Me

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Seeking roots


Dear Phoenix,
I am better now. Last night before bed as well as just hours ago when I awoke in the middle of the night I was not ok. Not at all. I almost got up then to write you, and decided to ride it out there in the dark. I couldn't tell what was coming and even in the middle of it, did I recognize it. Now, though, I see what was unraveling beginning with an innocent walk in the woods yesterday with a sister.

Yesterday, A. and I went to search for trees who'd been uprooted so we could harvest pieces of their dying roots for class tonight. We'd planned to go to one particular place where she had a pass to enter. Not until we were almost there did she realize she didn't have it. No problem, we regrouped and decided to go to an adjacent area that was free access. Not until I had parked the car did it occur to me why my throat was dry and I was feeling very uneasy. This was a place where Phoenix and I used to hike together years ago. I spoke that aloud to A. and felt the feelings of confusion arise, confusion and bewilderment like I was in a dreamscape or a past life memory that I was just beginning to remember. We found a tree pretty quickly, got the roots we came for and decided to go ahead and take a hike. As we walked i could feel grief surfacing. At one point I thought I maybe needed to just fall apart, but worried about 'tiring' my sister with yet more grief. She's seen me go through it this year like all the other sisters and I know the same old same old thing can be tiring. So, I just contained because it felt so big and I was still unraveling the experience...trying to remember the trail, heariing/seeing the ghosts of times past there with Phoenix, with Beetle, with their predecessor, Butter. It was quite uncanny. And, still trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, present-ness with my sister as we encountered beautiful pieces of bark, moss and vines.

On the ride home, we got behind a car with a very large dog in the back. She took up most of the back of the station wagon and her head was hanging out the side window. Intensely beautiful wolf/dog/wolfdog. The colors of Phoenix. I drove next to them for a while hoping the driver would look over and i could motion for him to pull over! ( I know, crazy) I was compelled to touch this animal being. I could hardly take my eyes off her there as I also tried to drive safely. Unfortunately the driver ignored my obvious staring and drove on past where I had to turn off. And this beautiful being was gone.

So, when I awoke early this morning, I had the usual mental goingson about this upcoming class. All the anxiety was returning about that. Then the grief rushed in again. I began to ache in my chest and my left arm, my whole body felt wrenched and flu-y and I heaved sobs out. I recalled my walk earlier in the day. I recalled the painful reason we stopped going there to hike (that's for another story). I recalled the feeling of walking there with Phoenix safe, free and so together. I remembered that feeling of panic of calling calling for him when he'd chase the scent of a deer and be gone for too long. I'd try to keep my voice calm, sound relaxed, but as time stretched out, I'd become more and more stressed: "PHOENIX, COME ON!" And, of course, eventually he would come back, tongue hanging low. I'd collapse on the ground with him and hug him and say "Thank you for coming back!" Then we'd walk on, feeling free, safe, together. Something that was unique to us.

And..something else that was unique was something I taught him when he was a puppy. See, at the time I had Butter, my aged golden retriever. Her pace was slow, so when we'd hike, I'd have the person I was with hold on to Butter, and Phoenix and I would run ahead and then run back to where Butter was. We'd do this over and over and as he aged, he would do exactly that off leash: trot or run up ahead and then rush back to me. At the time I didn't know I was teaching him anything intentional, but what I realized this morning as I was sobbing and calling aloud for Phoenix, remembering that desperate place of him being gone then and now, I realized that that puppy lesson was about coming back. I was teaching Phoenix to go ahead and then come back. That's when the tsunami of awareness came: I.....taught.......Phoenix.......to.....come.....back. Where is he now!!! This awareness felt like a birth--the last push and then out came this new level of grief and understanding that that walk unraveled today.

In retrospect, one could say that that enormous wolf/dog/wolf dog in the car ahead of me was Phoenix 'coming back'. And maybe, like all the other wuwu kinds of things that I record here on the WEb, it was Phoenix. Certainly it was undeniable timing, even if I didn't really register what was linking up. And..you know, not to sound ungrateful...it wasn't Phoenix. I didn't get to fall on the ground with him and hug him and say, "Thank you for coming back!" I am not ungrateful for who and what Phoenix may be "sending' me. I know Deeply in my heart and soul that Life seeks to Return, seeks to Repair. I know that is the Source of these Wuwu's. I understand that better than I ever have in my life. And...my arms long for Phoenix, not an approximation. That's the honest truth right now.

The other honest truth is this: after the tsunami passed, I felt more energy, less collapsed on myself and my attention shifted to being able to stand and come to my computer to write. The way I understand that phenomenon is that I 'went back' to get a piece I'd forgotten. A piece of the life that was Phoenix and I. A piece that I'd buried for reasons that had nothing to do with my love for Phoenix. It was a shamanic journey, for lack of a better way to say it. I journeyed inside, beside myself. Thank you, Goddess, for getting me to the hike, that innocent hike. And, thank you, Phoenix, for seeking to return. I feel you doing that. It is no small thing.

Love,
Me

Monday, February 7, 2011

Calm, please

Dear Phoenix,

My life feels so intense right now. My nervous system is charged and I'm having a hard time settling. My sleep patterns have been erratic, though the last few nights have been better. I am not sure if this is related to anticipating this next month coming up, reliving the anniversary of your violent death or, if it's that plus the fact that you are not here to help calm me. You always did that so well. In ways that others cannot.

I spoke about you in class last week. I told them what happened and that I feel like I am coming unraveled. They were loving and responsive. I know they will ride this with me and...I don't know if I can do it. I know I've already lived through it. I'm already around the Wheel with it. and it's just so awful. So so awful. It's a threshold I don't want to pass through again. Even if I have others with me. I feel it may choke the life out of me. I don't want to re-member the moments of first recognizing you and I are no longer together. It feels totally impossible. I don't want to know that pain again. Even though it's never left. I feel it everyday at some point. It will just be so condensed as an anniversary, the anniversary.

And what can you do??? I know there's nothing you can do. Goddess, I need you. I need peace. Settling in this unraveling. I don't need to feel like I am in control...just that YOU are and that I am held. And that I can allow myself to be Held. That's the thing...I need help allowing myself to be Held.

I miss you, Phoenix. No one is you, nor can be you to me. You were my Guardian. And I must find a way to live without you/that. It is very intense like this. I feel like a turtle without her shell, braced and tense. Softening. Being Held. My prayers.....

Love,
Me