Death has been swirling in my orbit.
[No. 22]
ARE YOU ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE DECEASED?
“I am interested in reconstructing symbols. It’s about connecting with an older knowledge and trying to discover continuities in why we search for heaven.”
Anselm Kiefer
How covered we are in riches. Our souls are linked through mystery and magical whispers that soothe, [YES, IT WAS REAL.]
[SYMBOLS]
I married my daughter’s dad in October 2005. One of the most beautiful gifts of that day was that my stepfather, Don, was there. He had been battling a rare blood cancer for years. In July, we had all gathered around his hospital bed to say our goodbyes. Don had other plans; he was determined to see my mom give me away in her pale blue dress [SHE LOOKED LIKE A PRINCESS]. A sliver of himself in body, but present of spirit, Don made it to the wedding.
Four days later, as I sat by the pool at a hotel called Shutters, I felt a lightning bolt of him. I called the house and got no answer; he had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. I made it to his bedside, and he died that night. Then, I stood on a stage for the same loved ones I had seen just one week prior and delivered a eulogy straight from the soul.
When we returned to our home in New York, I digested the highs and lows and milled about, high up on the 25th floor. I felt uncertain about everything. In my meanderings, I saw a large ladybug crawling on a bookshelf. How did it get there, how did it survive? We had been gone for weeks. A wave came over me; I felt this ladybug was Don’s way of saying [I AM WITH YOU]. I will say I have seen ladybugs since at times that defy logic [on planes, at the doctor, on my desk, all over a wrapped birthday gift, at sea]. I can no longer pick up the phone to call Don, but I can imagine him on the cordless phone in the backyard smoking an omnipresent cigar. Somehow he knows to find me when I am making a decision, sleeping off old ways of being, and breaking into something new.
Dawn.
[SIGNS]
On my birthday, I saw Anselm Kiefer’s Exodus at the Marciano Foundation for the third time. I was brought to tears by the work, when a guard beckoned me. He whispered, “Do you see anything curious about this painting?” I looked up at the straw, ash, and metal intertwined in the globs of paint. He added, “Right at your eye level.” I looked ahead to see a half-smoked cigar resting on an edge within the work. Hi, Don. Hi.
[WHISPERS]
My grandmother passed away in 1999. She was less subtle than Don in-person, and is less subtle today. Her pearls of wisdom string through dreams like advice—clear as day— [SAMAAANTHA]. It sounds like the PA system at the middle school across the street. Then as quickly as she is here, she disappears. My dear friend, Kathryn, too comes through like this, as if borrowing my grandmother’s equipment while she’s sleeping. Kathryn’s words are gentle, but direct. Lately, I have been curious to invite others to the classroom. Guest teachers.
[MYSTERY]
Signs and symbols aren’t for everyone. A love once said to me, “If you assign meaning to 11:11, then you will see it.” Yes, and maybe magic works like that. We give life meaning, and life gives us meaning back. What if the signs, symbols, songs, voices are a bridge to something bigger? I don’t have a problem building a temple to mystery.
[MAGIC]
“Everything is made out of magic: leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all around us.”
The Secret Garden
For me, communication with the departed is both a gift and a given. Asker, what do you [WISH] to communicate to the deceased? Who are you missing? What’s on your mind? Write your letter.
The veil is thin, and the ladybugs [ANCESTORS] are waiting. Patiently. To help you. So, keep your side of the street lush and fecund while you’re apart & until you’re together again.