Friday, July 30th, 2010
"Dear, sweet Allan is gone," the note read. "He took his life on Tuesday."
The words leaped off of the computer screen and sucker-punched me right in the gut. Dumbstruck, I dialed the number of the man who had introduced me to Al back in January.
Together, we sat in stunned silence
....................................................................................................................................................................
How could we not know? He came to my classes. He showed up in the dance. He worked countless volunteer hours at the farm and he attended a meeting, or two. Yes, he had said that he wanted to be more involved. Yet, his jovial, hearty demeanor belied the simple fact that we had been facing a life or death situation, for months - and we never knew it.
A devoted husband, father, and grandfather, he was also a successful businessman and a wealthy American who seemingly had it all - a grand home perched above the wild La Jolla coast and a life lived right to the 'T.'
In his note, he wrote that only a mad man could do what he had done - for his had truly been the most amazing family....
Thursday, August 5th, 2010
He found me.
Inspired to move by the countless throngs of obese American children, he is impassioned to work towards shifting current cultural norms, from a material-based value system to a health-wealth ecosystem based on biological necessity [for touch, community, culture and natural resources]. My phonetic, last name had caught his attention while he was perusing lists and locations that detail some of the local food movement's comings and goings, who-done-its and where-was-its. Over hot coffee on a glistening, late morning in Little Italy, we connected at the heart level. Together, we vibrated on an interweaving future of communion, food, art, music, dance and culture. Our shared mirage was a vibrant tapestry that carried all of us upon its back of an "economics of love." We dreamed of a people-focused middle ground where relationship - to Self, to others, to planet and to sky - is the way.
(Even as Daniel Quinn's voice echoes in the distance, "But, there is no one way, Cara."
"Shhhhh..." I quietly respond.)
In banal discourse, he also shared one of his many skills ~ identifying talent when he sees it. His eyes shone like sparking jewels as the words danced out of his mouth. Instantaneously, I knew that the brilliance I was witnessing was merely a reflection. Later on, in the flow of conversation, he cemented this knowing by addressing his young daughter and as to how she is a precious jewel who he wants to help teach how to shimmer and shine without guilt, remorse or fear.
"Thank you, Daddy," her and I whisper in our girl dreams.
Sunday, August 8th
(Happy seventy-seventh, Dad!)
Uptight and unable to let go, I judge others. Erect in their company, I do not seek their counsel, communion or smiles. Instead, I create and hold on to storylines in my head. I create unspoken expectations and reasons for why not's and how come's. I strategically plan countermoves and moves. I stake out some imaginary game. I look around to see who else is playing along and no one is playing along...
I wake up
on Monday morning,
August 9th
There is pain in the center of my chest. My heart chakra hurts. Tension and fear have seemingly become trapped in the space in front of and above my sternum. I'm suffering.
I try to present myself back into an environment that no longer feels supportive or good. This time around though, instead of fighting, I take flight. I seek solace in the enlivening arms of a local healer. With touch, massage, hot water, heat and physical exertion, he wrestles the blocked energy from my legs, thighs, arms and shoulders. In my left quadricep, he unravels the stored e-motion of Allan's passing. I heave. I want to release the torrent of unbridled sadness but I
don't
quite
let
it
go.
Nonetheless, I immediately recognize the gift that Al was - a reminder that, sometimes, one has to let go of the container, especially when continued pain ensues.
I can do this.
(Thank you, Daddy.)
