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March 8th will arrive--and with it, the one year anniversary of Rob's death. This evening I wondered if the distance between earth and heaven might be more permeable on such a day.
I come from Ireland and though I don't practice Celtic spirituality, I did grow up hearing stories about the afterlife and the spaces between here and there. It's a thin place when the boundaries between earth and heaven become more transparent. In such a space we can better sense the divine--commune with those who have gone before us. The Celts call these spaces, CAOL ÁIT.
As a teenager, I was fascinated by the closing lines of Whitman's Song of Myself. I would walk about reciting these lines in my mind--almost as if they were a mantra.
I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.
You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.
I wonder where Rob has stopped, who he now is, and what he means. He told me heaven was a parallel universe and I should sense him in the darkened sky.
"Leave breadcrumbs," I whispered as he was dying. "Leave breadcrumbs and when it is my time, I'll follow."
Leave breadcrumbs, a beautiful thought. I believe that those in the spiritual place are watching over us, Mary Ann. I sometimes see my mother in my dreams and it is comforting. Her breadcrumbs are all over my house, reminding me of her love for family. It is comforting. I hope that you are finding peace among the breadcrumbs that are being left for you.
ReplyDeleteThank you Carol. I had not thought of the breadcrumbs as placeholders for the many reminders of Rob I have at home.
Delete, I look around, across to the Tor anchored away on the levels.
ReplyDeleteDefiantly a child-drawn rainbow appears.
It gives me closure and hope.
He lives with me now. He is not gone, his gouache is etched in my soul.
I shall bear grief with joy.
We don't end my friend, we become particles for a child's studious science.
This brought tears.
DeleteAnd joy.
Thank you.
My breadcrumbs, from my mother, are the beautiful, long silver strands of her hair that she accidentally wove into the afghan she made for us...I love the idea of a "thin place" where we can sense the other. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThat and her poetry.
DeleteReading your blog posts over the past year, I have felt that Rob and his breadcrumbs were always with you... These lines, especially, made me think of you and Rob:
ReplyDeleteYou will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.
Yes, those lines are dear.
DeleteThank you for sharing such a heartfelt slice of life. I lost my mom this year and am reminded over and over that kids stings but that it is part of the richness of life too.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry about your loss. I know how losing your mother can hurt. Loss is painful and it does also point to the fact that to feel so deeply we were also well loved.
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