His plan was to return to SF and continue teaching in the Bay area in December. He was working with inner and outer. What sparks within? How do we integrate ourselves into the world? How do we bring ourselves forward, and forth?
He worked with "meeting", meeting ourselves, another, a rock, the air.
He worked with "masks". What masks do we show others? What masks do we erect within ourselves? How might we be vulnerable with another, with ourselves?
In the moment, I am in shock. I could be the shoreline of the East coast, pounded with hurricane-force waves, screeching firmly, "Now, Now, Now! Now is all we've got. Wake Up!"
I ask myself now, "Am I open for what comes?" I want to be, but lately there have been a great many shocks, Katy's illness, the house, the storm, and now the loss of Seymour, a loss not only for myself, but for the community of Sensory Awareness.
I continue to ask, "Am I open? Do I feel my feet like springs so I can hop from place to place as the earth opens up under me?"
I walk outside, bring the now-dry clothes in from the deck. A bee rests on my sweater. I examine the clutch of a bee, and think of honey. Would I know just looking at this one bee that honey comes from bees, and that flowers are involved? How much do I miss when it comes to connecting the dots?
I think now of a drawing by Brian Andreas. A woman is pictured with these words: "I spent a long time trying to find my center until I looked closely one night and found it had wheels and moved easily in the slightest breeze, so now I spend less time sitting and more time sailing."
Yes, sailing, learning to navigate the breeze. Tacking left and right to move forward, and maybe sometimes, back. Yes.
Yesterday my friend Karen and I went to Pierce Point in Pt. Reyes. It is where I go to say good-bye to those I love who've passed on. It seemed fitting that we go this time of year when the veil is said to be thin between those living and dead. I continued to encourage us to walk further and further. She had never been there, and I wanted her to see the bay on one side, and the ocean on the other, and the Tule Elk. I was pulled forward on wings of joy. Then, the downpour began. We headed back, lit, tapped, and invigorated by refreshing drapes of rain. I felt awake and cleansed. We were soaked, head to toe. It was great!!
When we returned to her home, we sat by the fire and ate and drank red wine. The day was our celebration of her mother, Annemarie, who died in June, and also, a celebration of all those we love, whether here or somewhere we don't yet understand.
I returned home to a gathering at my neighbors, a blessing of communion and connection, an honoring of a Trick or Treat night. They had spent the day at the Giant's celebratory parade, a gathering of a million people, a diversity of people united in the celebration of how we swing a bat at what is thrown and caught.
Seymour was relatively young. He was healthy, happy, inspired, and now he is called to release all masks. For him, inner and outer are now one. What part of me goes with Seymour? How do I meet this loss?
If you are interested, here are more quotes from Brian: http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/32114.Brian_Andreas
You can also find some of his images on-line. Peace.