(no subject)

[felicula]

As I inched my way toward awareness today, my thoughts first tried to organize themselves and prepare for the day's activities. I worried. I plotted logistics. But I realized I wanted all that to quiet itself.

I turned toward the west-facing window. The trees across the parking lot of the YMCA blazed orange. A calm settled in my heart and a smile transformed my face as I imagined how beautiful the sunrise must be to color the landscape so brightly.

I wandered out into the kitchen where several boquets of flowers stood in their vases. It struck me how each and every flower in the room was marked for death. They were cut in the prime of their beauty to share their color and aroma. I realize that this sounds morbid, but to me it was quite the opposite. Thich Nhat Hanh wrote about how flowers and garbage are really a part of the same continuum. Composted garbage nurtures and enriches the growth of flowers. Those same flowers whose lives brighten our table will wither and wilt, destined themselves to be compost.

From the kitchen, I could hear the rush of water from my Mom's shower. With time to wait and the stiffness of sleep still hanging on my limbs, I decided to do a series of sun salutations (yoga) in the living room. I was able to relax into the poses, connect with my breath, and rejoice in the energy from both movement and sunshine.

Upstairs, the purple velvet dress I had brought with the funeral in mind seemed unfit. Instead, I chose the royal blue patterened skirt and sky blue shirt I had with me. Some outfits are just right for the feeling and the occasion. My mom had a royal blue jacket she lent me as well, making me feel complete.

As I showered, I remembered all the love people had shown at the wake and at my Mom's house. I thought of the flowers and the compost. I came to a point where I could revisit the unity of all things. From there, I remembered that, like physics teaches us, nothing can be created or destroyed. Existence is a total, a whole, an entirety, and a unity. From that vantage point, I could feel my Father everywhere. I remembered that every breath is a miracle: every sensation, pleasing or painful is a manifestation of being. I felt like it was impossible to be alone, just as it is impossible ever to separate the parts of the whole fully. In that wholeness, I found a well of strength that was infinite. I overflowed with peace about my Father's death, understanding of the needs of my family, and gratitude for all the support that cradles us.

The song my Father had asked me to sing played over and over in my mind. Up until this morning I had been unable to remember how the entire song went. It came to me in its entirety where I was able to practice it without a keyboard. Vocal exercises came easily afterward.

My nerves came back when it was time to go, but I was (and am) filled with such a lively, deep peace that I felt I could spread it to everyone I talked to.

It being a Catholic ceremony in my parents' parish church, I was uncertain how I was going to react to symbolism and language that, to me, usually feels limiting. I was blessed during the ceremony to have a calm and perception to reach more deeply into the Catholic imagery and to find the places where it intersected my own beliefs.

I hope and believe I was able to share the calm and peace I was feeling with everyone I talked to. I could spend my time smiling, giving hugs, talking about my Dad's life up until the end, and helping where I was needed. Learning an extra verse in their version of the song did not faze me.

The ceremony was beautiful, as was the church. It is a large parish, so our funeral looked small in comparison. With every song, I let my voice ring out the best I could, even for the very Christian ones. I know my Dad would have wanted that. I even led everyone in the recessional, "This is my song," as per my Father's request. Aidan, mechanchaos, and I took the gifts up when it was time to. One of my Dad's friends from kindergarten, who also has done some acting, gave an amazing eulogy that highlighted the best of my Dad for everyone. There was even a navy honor ceremony with the flag presentated to my Mom. Since I went to the choir loft for singing the recessional, I got to have an excellent view of it all.

It is a shame that so many of the people I talked to and felt I finally made a little connection with were friends and former co-workers of my Dad's who really could have had a closer connection with our family if this were under different circumstances. However, so many people came out of the woodwork to help in any way they could.

You should see the amount of food here in the house now. We thought there'd be at least a handful of people in the house after the reception for awhile, but people got their need for socializing out of the way at the restaurant. Now, everything is quiet (except for Aidan, of course). I have that slightly deflated feeling that happens after the bustle and busy of a major event.

Even though I got a full night of sleep last night, I am still feeling the after-effects of the up-all-nighter I pulled to assemble the photo boards of my Father for the wake. Though I feel the work and their usefulness was worth it, I am eagerly looking forward to bed tonight.

Though the rush of the day is over, I still radiate the profound calm I woke up with. Being a mystic is definitely a worthwhile spiritual pursuit, whatever your religion.