Saturday, December 6, 2008

Is freedom letting go?

Heath called me last week to tell me he has a new girlfriend, Sabrina. I am thrilled for him. This is what my heart longed for, that he would meet someone he could love and have children with. Sabrina is 32 and has never been married. She's a blond. That is significant because Crista's hair was dark, as were here lovely eyes. And Heath has never been attracted to Blonds. Also significant, I think. This is a new beginning for my son-in-law. And he deserves another chance at happiness.

On another level, this news took me from my manic phase of grief (long coming) and thrust me back into my depressive state. I can't stop crying. Again.

The world seems to be swirling around me in total chaos. Nothing makes sense. I am a lost traveler in this world. And yet, I don't believe that is what I am supposed to be--lost. Heath and Crista and I came together, I believe, as we were supposed to. It's as if we had a celestial agreement. I, to raise my beautiful, complex, complicated daughter, Health to love her through her last journey, she to touch the lives of so many before she left. Heath knows this is true. I know this is true. Crista knows this is true. Now Heath, his job done, is moving on. As should I. But how?

Buddhist monk Pedra Chodron explains this state of loss and confusion thus:

If we are wiling to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be exterminated, then we can have the courage to relax with the groundlessness of our situation. This is the first step on the path.

The Course in Miracles tells us that it is only our ego mind that creates and projects the sadness and despair that accompany illusory events in this world of separation. If I "knew" with certainty that there is no death (as the Course emphasizes), that the son of God is free--if I truly believed that and trusted God and Holy Spirit, if I could shed the false beliefs I have in loss and death, I would begin to see the world differently and every terrifying thing would be transformed into a thing of joy.

Ekhart Tolle says that every time a thought begins with "me" or "I" or "mine," it is the ego speaking. And the ego has an investment in keeping us unhappy, suffering.

The Course says to relinquish false idols.

I can draw no conclusion from these ramblings. Suffice it to say that I have an inkling that I should stand before God and offer him my suffering. So that is what I will do. I will pray that it is lifted from me, and in its place I will find God's pure joy. Because, according to the celestial contract I share with my beloved Crista and my wonderful Heath, I have more to do on this earth before I leave. And God knows that I am willing to do it. I only ask for guidance along the way.

I will close with a note I made the other day in the margin of the Course Workbook.

"When I am willing to stand in the light of God and shed (lose, in human terms) everything, then I will understand that these "things" are not real. I must be willing to let go. It feels like loss. It is really freedom."

Monday, December 1, 2008

Yielding to what is

I recently came across an article posted on www.opentohope.com. It was written by Bryon Katie. Maybe you know of her. She's published extensively on the topic of surrendering to "what is." As I understand it, Katie posits that our personal reality consists of self-made stories played out in an otherwise impersonal universe, which, in turn, creates our own version of hell.

In the article I refer to here, Katie says things that resonate with me and things that do not. For instance, she talks about God and "reality" as being synonymous.

"I call reality 'God,' she says, "because it rules. It is what it is and it is so physical. It's a table, a chair. It's the shoe on your foot. It's your hair.It's so clear, it's solid. It's completely dependable." And here is where it gets tricky. "You don't get a vote in what it does, and it doesn't wait for your opinion or your permission. You can trust it completely."

While this is a Zen-like position to take, I find it somehow lacking and alien to my belief that God is an infinite abstract power, a force of pure love. And out of that love, he created all living things (including those shoes and chairs). We think we have strayed from this love. We believe we are guilty. And because we believe we are guilty, because we believe we are separate, we project onto the world the terror we carry inside. As we begin to recognize and accept the unity of all life, we will begin to see that we are all a part of God. He is not the trees out there. We are not separate puppets. We are one.

That said, let's look at what else Katie has to say because some of it makes sense to me. "The past is the past," she says. "It happened, and you can't do a thing about it. So why, she wonders, create a heap of anguish about what you cannot change. Accept it and ask yourself, "Where can I go from here." According to Katie, anything else is insanity.

"If my child has died, that's the way of it," she writes. Any argument with that, such as lamenting -- 'She died too soon.' 'I didn't get to see her grow up.'-- brings on internal hell. "This is crazy," she says. "Her death is a reality." And no amount of arguing can change that. "Punishing yourself can't change it, your will has no power at all."

At this point in my reading I wanted to scream, "Hey, lady. Do you have any idea what you are talking about? Have you lost a child!!" The only thing crazy here is that this woman thinks she can speak to an issue she can't begin to understand. That's not a judgment on my part. It's true. Unless you have lost a child, honey, you ain't got a clue. Am I right?

After several readings,however, I started to see the truth of what she was presenting. Punishing myself can't change the fact that my only child is no longer present, that she died a horrible, painful death. That apparently happened (although A Course in Miracles tells us unequivocally that "There is no death. The son of God is free."

What I can do, says Katie, is to turn self-punishing thoughts around and find three earnest reasons why Crista's death is equal to her not dying -- three reasons why her death may be better for her and for me in the long run. What a radical idea. Better for her? Better for me? That's matriarchal sacrilege. Isn't it?

Then I remembered the last birthday card my beloved Crista gave to me. It was May 3. She was very sick at this point (she died on May 25). Her handwriting, once a graceful flourish, was small and shaky--the hand of a child. It read:

Mom, Someone must have known we should walk this journey together. There's no one I'd rather walk it with..

With that memory came the "knowing that passeth understanding," that Crista left this earthly performance exactly when she was supposed to go. I believe this is true, although that doesn't mean for a nanosecond that the understanding of it lightens the sadness I carry in my heart. I miss my girl. But I am now able to grasp her leaving, sure that her exit is part of a greater plan for all living things.I don't know what that plan is. I just know there is one.

I believe, as does Katie, that our perception creates our world. I also believe that as we open ourselves up to the power of God, our perception of this world will change and we will begin to see what God sees, joy and grace and love beyond the wildest imagination. Katie calls it, a mind surrendering to itself. "When [the mind] is not at war with itself," she says, "it experiences a world that is completely kind."

So maybe, as grieving parents, we can begin to see things differently. Maybe we can gather the courage to ask ourselves that oh-so radical question: Why is the death of my child equal to or better than her not dying? And maybe, just maybe, as we begin to understand God's infinitely wondrous plan for his entire sonship (all living things), the response we get will quiet our fears and quicken our hearts.