Tag Archive: life


I will re-member you

It’s late, or early, and I can’t sleep for thinking about loss.

Tomorrow, or today, I have my first online funeral (cancer not COVID) but I can’t help but want some primal scream for the research uncompleted, articles unwritten, the things you’ll never get to see or say to your kids. A voice – silent. A light – extinguished.

Around the world right now that’s happening – lights extinguishing.

The current COVID death count based on available information is at 903,473 worldwide. Do the modeling on that to factor in the families, friends, colleagues, neighbours impacted. How incredibly precious is each life.

In, Rubem Alves’ The Poet, The Warrior, The Prophet, a body washes up on the shore in a fishing village and the villagers try to hold funeral rites the way they usually would, but no one knows this person to remember them. There is a void. And in the end, the void is filled with the stories of who this might be. The void is full of possibility.

The other night, my partner and I watched Pixar/Disney’s Coco together (I’m not crying, you’re crying). In the Mexican tradition of Día de Muertos, the memory of our family is kept alive by the images and stories of them we share. Each member of the family might have a different story about an ancestor, each have a different inheritance from knowing and sharing that life. It’s why when we tell each other, we are so enriched by the remembering. Or Alves’ “re-membered” because it almost seems as if that person is alive to us once more with the telling. With lockdown right now, those friends, family and colleagues aren’t able to gather to share their stories, to share their grief. There is a void.

I haven’t been wearing rings much during the pandemic, everytime I notice my bare hands it seems like a stark reminder we are in different times, see – I usually put them on just as I grab my lanyard for work and leave the house… I’m not going to work. I’m not leaving the house. The experience of living through a pandemic (we refer to it as riding the coronacoaster), sometimes is ok and at other times it’s the steep drop of noticing each tiny rhythm or ritual that we don’t do right now layered up one on the other. Like… thinking of what to wear to the funeral, what stories we will tell to re-member you to each other and celebrate your life, who of our mutual acquaintances will be there to see and catch up with, participation in a ritual not necessarily reflecting our beliefs but those significant to you who are at the centre – the reading and singing together, eating and drinking together, the sharing grief together.

I’m realising that today, I will do that on my own. There’s no one else in my household that knows you. There is a void.

I think I’ll wear a ring to your funeral.

And somehow, just like that, in the void… there was possibility.


…The Prophet speaks not to the dead but to the Wind.
He names what he does not know, he says what he cannot do.
Before the Mystery: grace.
He enters the woods, he dives into the deep waters…
He invokes something which is beyond knowing and doing: God…
The only thing he has is a wound in his flesh: the pain of Desire: longing. Restless is his heart…
Inside the Void, a universe slowly makes itself visible: dreams.
What is not… And they are beautiful: a Garden… The same Garden which lives in the entrails of the Victim. And they blow with the Wind, and in the graveyard, life appears. A flower in the desert. The secret of messianic hope.


Rubem A Alves – The Poet, The Warrior, The Prophet

Today we got a kitten. He’s pretty great. His name is Ragnar. #great #hira

A new dawn for my plant might be the last day for these caterpillars! Hope is a strange creature. We sit in this paradox, some of us like the familiar holey system, something must die for something new to grow in its place. It’s painful. We grieve it. Especially when we don’t personally  have anything against cute little green caterpillars.   #dawn #atapūao

What parts of you feel like they’re dying? Yes. It’s hard, I  know. It is for me too. Now, what parts of you are coming alive? #release #wewete

Lent word: Live

I’m spending some time in the garden for the first time in ages. It requires being present. It requires paying attention. Many things have gone to seed. Some are already sprouting away on their own. This is the cycle of life: the dying and the living. #live #ora

Today we celebrate. We celebrate you exist. The spark of life that’s in only you and no one else. Lashings of strawberries and cream and love. #celebrate #whakahari

Advent word: Go

One errand. 44 degrees. Go. Love sends us. Love is the key.  Love let’s us back in.#go #haere #adventwords2019

Advent word: Humble

This year I have started 2 new jobs, moved house and in with my partner, done a reno/fitout, helped start up a vape shop we now live behind. That’s a lot of change. I’ve never been very good at a 5-year plan… I feel like the house that comes my way, that is where I will make home. Those with whom I live and work, with them I’ll share life. An angel bears news. Is it good? Is it bad? No one can know when they answer: Let it be with me as you have said. #humble #māhaki #adventwords2019

jars of preserves lined up on the window sill intentional community

This month marks the end of living in intentional community in Footscray for eight and a half years (albeit I will still be living in intentional proximity).

In that time, I have lived in six houses and with over 20 different people – some of them twice.  I’m packing at the house I’m in now to move again, and found it remarkable to have so much in the ‘storehouse’ to take with me preserved from various houses I’ve lived in. A metaphor somehow, of lives and home shared. I know my experiences of living in community will nourish me in the future as will the preserves I take with me and I’m conscious of the privilege of that.  Having good things stored up means the seasons have been fruitful. We have shared abundance together and there’s still some leftover.

I started this blog post wondering whether I might have some insight or wisdom I wanted to share but what comes are memories and gratitude:

Waking up my first morning in a new house to a stranger in the kitchen, the grief and grace of the days your good intentions come to nothing, the awful times when we weren’t sure we’d have anywhere to live, the raw joy when Maria got PR.  I remember working with Elizabeth Braid to create a grace resource celebrating something of Melbourne’s small alternative church communities, and the poem-prayer about negotiating everyone’s wants and needs:

A Prayer for the Share House

Take away my resentment that the dishes still have food on them, cold water-full sponge, soap bottle half gone…
and give me gratitude for the dishes that have been done today

Take away my resentment for the planned meal ingredients used and not replaced…
and give me gratitude for the food that has been provided today

Take away my resentment at the passive-aggressive pile of belongings outside my bedroom door…
and give me gratitude for the cleaning that has happened today

Take away my resentment for the sleep lost holding you crying after the nth fight with your boyfriend…
and give me gratitude that I have friends with whom to share life

Take away my resentment for the times you have company and I-just-want-to-be alone, for the reverse of that, and when we each want to be alone and the house just isn’t big enough for the both of us…
and give me gratitude for those moments…  the brief, beautiful moments… we get it right.

Take away my resentment for the things said, the things unsaid and those for which we do not have words but our spirit cries
and give me gratitude for the things said, the things unsaid and those for which we do not have words but our spirit cries

Amen

Today I add this addendum…

Take away those moments I felt like I failed, the guilt I felt falling short of all I imagined I should be able to be and do, all my ego thought I could.

and give me gratitude for my humanity, for leaning on and learning from others whose help I need – the seeds sown and fruit grown and the love. God, I’m so grateful for the love.

Thanks to all of you with whom I have lived, loved and shared life. May the road rise up to meet you and may it sometimes lead you back to my door.