The universe is vast and mysterious
Dear Hunter,
The universe is vast and mysterious to those of us tethered to the earth-- how will I come to understand how souls exist within a world infinitely larger than my humanness can accept? If my purpose is to love with all my might, with more abandon and less angst, with acceptance of what is rather than fear of what could be--- if my purpose is to expand my heart until it touches the edges of you and tosses the "veil" out the window eliminating the idea of here and there-- than how am I to take my next breath? How do I lean into every small opportunity to love while honoring the needs of my tender, pulsing heart? I accept the challenge. If I have another week or five more decades walking on this planet, I want to live with the wind in my face, mud leaking through my shoes, the messy hands of love all over my body. You are opening doors, inviting me to peek in, to consider that there are many other realities.
...
Yesterday after six hours of intense, exciting work I realized, suddenly, that the fog had cleared. My interest in work had returned. The new partnerships I've formed at my new broker/dealer feel like grace & stardust & a hug all wrapped into one.
....
I'm not alone. Not at work, not at home, not in my life. EVERYTHING I've experienced since you transitioned has shown me this truth. Even during those first agonizing days, as my body tried to deny your death, as my heart twisted in wretched ache, you were present. The hummingbird that circled my head three times, only inches away. The butterflies. Feathers at my feet. Osprey, hawks, and eagles. The caterpillar on your grave and in the stable. And at 3am this morning, as I contemplated an idea for a beloved friend of mine, you flashed the brightest light. I saw Amy's cell phone on her pillow, lit up in the dark, and said, "What's up?" and she roused from sleep and said, "What do you mean?" "Your phone is on and lighting up the room", I said. "My phone is face down, under my pillow," she said. Whoa.
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As my head clears I've become more committed to doing something about the medical provider that prescribed you the opiates that killed you. My fury is being transformed into action. She gave you a loaded gun and assumed you were trustworthy and going to use it as prescribed. You were 21, impulsive at times, a bit overconfident. You miscalculated. This might not have happened if you hadn't had access to the meds. How many others will die in this opioid epidemic? Our pill dispensing medical system is an utter failure-- and you became addicted to it. You, and millions of others. Some get nine lives. You only got one. Addiction is a sneaky bastard, and until you've experienced it with a loved one, you just don't see the train wreck coming-- or you see it coming but have no idea how to get off the tracks. Now you and I have people to wrap our arms around -- your friends who struggle with loss and addiction, those we don't know yet but perhaps can help -- We have work to do.
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I feel you helping me balance the desire to reach out and love fiercely with the need to allow myself enough time to fully metamorphize, to temper my tendency to try to emerge before my wings are dry and fully formed. I hear you saying what I said to you hundreds of times; "Breathe Mom, take that breath all the way into your belly and then let it out with a sigh. Sigh out everything you don't understand and can't control. Let it go."
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I am not alone. Never have been. I am supported by a vast network of love. Every time I affirm this my own light brightens, my load lightens and the cord that roots me to the earth and channels the heavens becomes stronger and clearer.
