I have been thinking tonight, about a great many things, and in an effort to distract myself from thinking, I've been clicking. Here and there I have clicked, and it's proven to have done the opposite of distracting me. Instead, it's resulted in my reconnecting with something that I wrote a short while ago.
My first click lead me to a thread here on Gaia about mazes, mandalas and labyrinth
here in One Light Many Windows. Then I remembered a very interesting sacred text that I read years ago
here on the same topic. This site, incidently, is quite a resource - a vast well of information that I have been wandering through for over ten years and have not even scratched the surface of.
Then, back to my 'home' page, and I saw, sticking out in the tag section, the word 'laughing'. Well, I could really use a laugh these days, and I clicked again. I was not prepared for what I came across. It has made me think deeply and I am definitely not ready to write more on it, but my wandering has brought me to where I needed to be, in the right moment (even if I did screw up in the who posting thing on One Light Many Windows - for the life of me, I just can't get how it works)
this is what I found - a post that I wrote in Now I see the Moon (the entire conversation can be found
here ):
Forgive me for being slow to jump in here - but I have not had a moment to sit down and properly write until tonight… this is a great topic to address here ST. Yes to Death being contagious. On Thursday last week, one of my students died. He had been ill for a few months and unable to come to class or do any of the things that he loved. Unfortunately, in the past couple of weeks, his health deteriorated very quickly. He is no longer suffering, and for that I am grateful. His loved one, who is also in my class, is suffering still, but with time her pain and loss will be felt less sharply. I miss his physical presence in the class. He was a hulking, tall, gregarious man with a thick Austrian accent, who grunted, groaned and complained loudly with every asana that I invited him to do. Every class he would do this. Grunt, groan and complain – and then tell me that the night before he had the best sleep he’d ever had because of learning yoga with me. We would tease each other every class, and enjoyed an easy friendship. Although he is not physically in my class at the moment, he is very much present. I know he is still there chuckling. I have been confronted with my own death a few times, outside of my ongoing dance with that ultimate transition. Once as a newborn (when the Hong Kong flu was the new flu on the block), once when I was two, once while living in Africa, and once for the briefest moment while giving birth to my first child. What kind of impact has that had on me? – pffftt fluffed it off as being a Life experience that everyone has, nothing unusual and moved on.
Actually, it was something else that crystallized my relationship (and understanding) with death during my time living in Africa – while I was there – two women came to the woman that I was living with. My ‘mother’ was a traditional doctor, and we often had people coming with various ailments to be treated. I walked outside one morning to find my ‘brother’ who was born with polio buried to his neck at the base of the papaya tree in the courtyard. It was part of his treatment. I still remember his bright wide smile when I came and sat with him for the morning. I sang to him. On the day that the first woman arrived, she was still bleeding from where the rapid dog had bitten her. I treated her wounds, washed and dressed them, and my ‘mother’ concocted her treatments. She stayed with us for almost a week – receiving treatments, and care. I knew that she was feeling much better the morning she came out of the house and started to laugh at me while I was struggling to wash my clothes by hand. It is an art that I eventually mastered, but at that time, the warthogs were better at it than I was. That day, she returned to her village. The next day, the second woman, who had been bitten by the same rabid dog came to us. A week later after having gone first to the local hospital, receiving only half of the necessary rabies shots because of a shortage, her family brought her. She was in bad shape. They laid her out on the dirt floor outside the door of my room and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. The next twenty-four hours were very difficult. The woman suffered a great deal, because she was beyond help by that time. The family suffered as they tried to ease her passage. Then, at the moment she passed, a peace like I had never felt before fell over all of us. On that night, I understood – Death comes when it comes. When it is time to go, it is just time to go. It is impossible to put everything into words, but as difficult as that transition can be – as with being born is dressed in painful contractions – when the change is made, there is peace and rest. Another story comes to mind now too, but I won’t retell this story though. If you ever have the chance to read the zen story of the mustard seed – it illustrates very well what I experienced personally that night in the jungle.
Anyway – I just try to live each day with one question in mind - what have I left undone. Mostly, just try to love, and laugh, and always look for beauty in every ordinary day.
Ok, I will go now and read everyone else’s responses.
Much love to you all and big hugs,
Leigh-Anne
then, I found this - a blog entry I wrote three months ago or so:
death – it is such a difficult topic. Recently it came up
here . No sooner had I written about some of my experience/ dance with death in an attempt to offer some personal understanding on the subject, the very next day, a very dear friend of mine lost her son at birth. It was a heartbreaking moment and gave me some pause to think about why this subject continues to come up for me, but not only that, that people around me are either passing or dealing directly with this loss. What I wrote, was not to say that I find dealing with death easy – in fact quite the opposite. I felt a profound sadness for the passing of this young angel, George, who never knew this world, at least not this time around. I will say though, my heart goes out to the bravery and wisdom of my friend and her husband as they move forward with the brief life of their son, and how they are honouring his life. I am deeply proud of them.
How we, individually, approach and are affected by death is very very different. I have a great deal of respect for everyone and their own experience with this transition. Even if we remove the religious, spiritual implications of death, and look at ‘it’ from a purely organic standpoint – there is transition at the most basic level, a cycle that we cannot escape from. Of course, I do not believe that we exist in only one level, that all levels of existence are equally integrated, and this transition touches all levels, which is why we, I, have such a sharp time dealing with the physical loss of someone. I think it is normal. So are tears. Both nourish and strengthen the soul. Accepting the process, for me, does not mean becoming unemotional – instead, it is about accepting that those emotions are part of the entire transition. There will be grief, tears, sadness, anger even, in acknowledging someone’s passing – even your own passing as it approaches. It’s ok that there is, even if there isn’t, that’s ok. There’s no rule that says you must do this or that. Just let yourself feel and give what you need to.
There just are no easy answers. Sometimes, no answers at all. Sometimes it is easier to accept our own mortality, the coming of our own death, than it is to accept the passing of someone we love, we know. Sometimes the opposite is true. No nice ribbons to tie everything up neatly with. But, getting through is getting through. No matter how difficult, everything happens for a reason. There are not always words or means to explain why, or what will come as a result of someone passing at any point in their life, but there is always meaning. I have said this before – death comes when it comes. I just try to live each day with one question in mind. What have I left undone? I try to live, love, laugh and find the beauty in every day.
In the end, I am deeply humbled by the life of a stillborn child, and inspired by the family who grieves and loves in his passing.
~
It is strange, that I would find myself wandering in circles being led back to what I had written not so long ago. I had forgotten that I wrote about the death of my friend's child, or the book that I illustrated. I had also forgotten that I had written what I did in Now I see the Moon. It is interesting, and not at all surprising that it feels like I have been walking a labyrinth, which I have in fact done not so long ago in one of my favorite places - the lotus ponds... It is all part of the process - of becoming more open, more aware, and more receptive to the transitions and changes in life. This wandering tonight has helped me a great deal. I feel a deep sense of peace, and comfort knowing that where I am being led, where I am wandering, is in a direction that will help me.... help in a profound way.
thank you. it's all I can think to say now :-)
xo
la
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November 2009 
quietlaughter
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