Tuesday, February 21, 2017

#SOL17: A Thin Place


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."


10 comments:

  1. 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.

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    1. Thank you Carol. I had not thought of the breadcrumbs as placeholders for the many reminders of Rob I have at home.

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  2. , I look around, across to the Tor anchored away on the levels.

    Defiantly 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.

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  3. 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.

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  4. Reading 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:
    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.

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  5. Thank 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.

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    1. I'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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