Two or three years ago. I don't remember exactly. I don't believe in death. Or time, for that matter.
I see tons of differing beliefs or lack thereof here on our site. [Originally posted on DailyKos.] I see fear and anger and sorrow and memorials. I believe all are needed. We need all of us so we can wake up and realize we never left Home.
The thing is, I don't write this, or anything else because I want you to believe what I believe. How boring would that be? We all believe what we believe, and I know there are those here who would appreciate my writing this diary this early Sunday morning.
* wewhodream's diary :: ::
We would go spoonin', Mom and I. When I was a very young boy (in our terms of time), we would sit on the front porch (in our terms of space), and we would hold hands and look at the moon. "It's a spoonin' moon," she would say to me, looking out at the big white full object in the dark sky. "Come on, Cowboy. Let's go spoonin'."
Mom was born in Sioux City, Iowa in 1930--something. (I'm not being irreverent--the details do not matter that much to me--). When she was sixteen, the family moved to Denver, where she eventually met my dad...he had left college in northern California, got in his Ford and drove east. Ran out of money as he got to Denver...there only seem to be coincidences. Mom was around 21, had almost enlisted in the Navy, just like her baby brother...she had five siblings: three brothers, two sisters. The baby is the only brother left. The sisters are still here...again, in our terms...Mom and Dad married in an old church in downtown Denver. 1952, I think. Went back to California. Divorced in 1970. We came back to Denver, Mom, my sister and me.
I had weird seizures when I was around one or two. High fevers so hot I lost enamel off my teeth...that is the story, anyway. Always had this preternatural sense of things spiritual. Mom encouraged this in me, herself quite creative and artistically gifted. She painted (oil), specializing in portraits. Sometime in the early '60s, she took the Famous Artists Course (Dad had taken the Famous Writers Course). One day she received a call from a member of the Board of the Course. He told her how impressed he was with her work and so on...encouraged her to keep at it as she had real talent. That man was Norman Rockwell.
It is the love, you see. That's what matters. It turns out the only thing real in the world we see is love. And the weird thing is, down deep inside, we all know it.
Mom was interested in things non-physical: Reincarnation, out-of-body travel, that sort of thing. None of that ever was strange to me, but wholly natural. Certainly not super-natural. It doesn't matter. It's the love. I heard an interview some years ago. A famous actress whose name escapes me, told a story about how she was at the bedside of a dear friend dying of AIDS. He would go in and out of consciousness. Each time he was "out", he would stay a little longer, then wake up. The last time he awoke, he looked at his friend, his eyes lucid and clear. His face alight with a strange peace. "I saw it! It's all about love!" Then he made his transition.
One night, Mom "traveled" back to Denver because she had been worried about her own mom, undergoing her first cancer surgery. Mom had spoken with Grandpa earlier that evening. Grandma was at that point just being wheeled into the operating room. Mom was so worried that in the middle of the night she got up, put on her fire engine-red fuzzy bathrobe we kids had given her that Christmas, glided to the bedroom door, turned and saw her physical body still lying next to my dad. She turned and moved along our hallway. She made it to the center of the hallway, and went through an invisible wall, and found herself in my grandparents hallway in Denver. 1200 miles away, in our terms of...well, you know. Mom went into their bedroom, woke Grandpa, told him she was worried and asked about her mom. Grandpa told her, "Let's go into the kitchen. I'll make us some coffee." They sat in the kitchen with their coffee (Grandpa made very strong black coffee) and Grandpa assured Mom that everything went fine. "Mom's okay." So with that, Mom stood and reversed the process. Went down my grandparents hall, returned to California. The next day, Grandpa called. He told Mom what she already knew. Then, there was a fairly long pause. Grandpa, a smart, rational man, not given to things he could not hold in his hand, could not see--this quiet man told my mom, "You know, last night I had the strangest dream. I dreamed you came into our room and said you were worried about your mom. We went into the kitchen and I made coffee. We talked, and I told you Mom would be okay. Then you left. And this morning when I woke up, I smelled coffee. Oh! And you had on the ugliest red bathrobe!"
About a week after Mom died, I woke up and smelled coffee. It smelled richer than coffee usually smells. Deeper, more real. I got up and stepped into the kitchen, and naturally, the pot was empty and cold, that wonderful aroma quickly fading. I stood and smiled.
"That love is all there is, is all we know of love." --Emily Dickinson.
"Love is the central flame of the Universe. Nay, the very fire itself." --Ernest Holmes.
"Loving thoughts are the world's only reality." --A Course In Miracles.
"The thread which ties us all together is love." --We Who Dream.
Causes Cary Chrysler Supports
The power of the individual to effect change in community/society.