I’m back after a couple weeks of silence. Staying silent somehow helps me find my self.

Back. Where? Here. For now.

Today I am at Riverwind. In the far north of California that most of you will never know exists. A peaceful private place along a wild river, tucked away with safety and secrecy, and a sense of the unknown, unknowable. Laden with moss draped from ancient oaks, the eagle, king fisher and dipper trace the river’s course, bear tracks in the sand, a pair of heron in the sky, and always, always the sound of the river – all of which is part of what makes this real place so unreal.

Today the rain falls and the leaves begin to turn and the season that came to a close back in Colorado where I was has just begun to unfurl here where I now am. And the river I watch from the kitchen table as I write to you begins its winter rise and swell, though I’m not ready, we just returned, and there is still so much that needs to be done. All of which adds to the uncertainty of wondering where the hell I am and what am I doing here.

Back. I don’t know for how long, but I am here now.

You know how it is, or can be.

There you are, just walking along. Let’s imagine you’re deep in dark woods but still holding a feeling of fresh and warm and light. You’re minding your own business, thinking you got this, you’re rocking it, when suddenly WHAM. You hit a land mine. Or trip and fall down a rabbit hole. Not the distracting internet kind, but the seemingly bottomless, looming dark pit that catches you unaware and there you are: falling, falling, falling – or at least somehow suspended, maybe even stuck, wedged in between time and space – just wishing something else would come along to break your fall and maybe even get you back onto solid ground.

Sure enough. That’s where I’ve been. In that time and place between here and there or maybe somewhere else, but no where firmly planted. No solid ground beneath my feet, at least none that I could feel. Funny when I thought all I really needed was dirt beneath my nails and earth to let my toes root in.

~

Life is a succession of transitions. Nothing stays the same nor lasts forever. It’s a series of endless waves in the ocean of time, though more often than not we feel we need to rush to get to some distant shore, though the shoreline is ever changing, and really it’s when we learn to simply float that we find we are exactly where we need to be.

Somewhere in the ever middle.

That is where mystery stirs.

Thus is the Bardo.

A fancy word for:

Lost.

Maybe it’s more simple than I make it seem.

Maybe it all comes down to home.

That space inside, indeed. But what’s around us, with whom and where we are, matter just as much.

The familiar scent of wild mint when the horses pass by the creek. Some sticky sweet fragrance of fall blooming flowers mingling with falling leaves. Fresh bread pulled from the old wood cook stove, like the seeming simple extraction of a chicken laying an egg.

I thought I had it figured out. I don’t. Somedays I think I’m just as confused as when I started. At my age, surely I should have this solved. But as one friend reminds me, when and if I find the answers, let him know. Because everyone is just kinda sorta hoping they know enough to make it through but we’re all just finding our way around the labyrinth that is life and hoping we do a good job, are good to each other, do something good, make this world (or at least one person) somehow a little better off for having lived.

My father died this week.

He was a good man. How many of us will have others say that about us? And really, think about it: what would you rather have someone say?

This reflection of my dad from dear friend Dick, who was like a brother to my dad, and who gratefully shares his wonderful writing from time to time on my blog:

“Humor is the best medicine. Jack with his upbeat attitude always made me feel better. I summon that up when I need uplifting. I also think often about his kindness and respect for others. We need more Jack’s in this world, a world gone crazy lately.”

Yes.

We need more Jack’s.

More good guys.

More people who are thoughtful, and brave enough to be nice in a world that seems leaning towards anything but.

We need more love in this world.

All of us.

More love.

More light.

More laughter.

We need to be good.

Really. We need it. We all do.

Nothing matters more.

Except for love.

And my dad did love.

Even as he approached death with grace and dignity, he continued to care so dearly for my mom. He’d worry and be concerned or proud, holding her and touching her gently as they spoke together with us.

What better lesson would I wish to share, if I could one day be as blessed?

Of course there is both grief and relief. Though after 67 or so years together, no one will experience the loss deeper than my mom.

Me, I was blessed to have him present right around the moment he died. It was early morning. Bob was still sleeping.  I was out on pasture doing chores, letting the horses out and going to retrieve the wheelbarrow and manure fork when lo and behold, there he was in the sky.

Good bye, Poppy. Peaceful passing to you. See you on the other side. And please keep me posted with each weather report and severe storm warning I hope you’ll still share with us all.

There is no one right way to grieve. There’s no protocol, no path, not set standard, no how-to manual. Best we can do is be real. What ever we feel is real. There is no wrong. There is only right. Sometimes found simply in connection, support, that which we share, give and receive. Sometimes it’s found in solitude, in silence. And always it’s found in that gentle place when we have the courage to be with mind and heart open wide.

Until next time,

With love, always love,

Gin