Walking West

A supermoon and an eclipse accompanied the equinox this year, heightening the sense that the veils between the worlds grow thinner by the moment. It is the the quarter of the year’s wheel when the harvest comes in; the time when the leaves turn colors and the grasses grow golden in the low-angled light western light at dusk. Let go, let go, it’s all done, completed, whispers the wind.

It seems as if the last couple of weeks since then have ushered in a lot of letting go. First, the passage of a very old friend’s mother–as in since kindergarten old friend’s mother. Mrs. R. had stepped up as a second mom after my mother’s unexpected death. She was 90, and the matriarch of a large blended clan. Until the last few months, she had been more clear-headed and coherent than many half her age, and burned up Facebook with the best of them. (“Having laser surgery on my eyes today. Asked the doctor if the beams will come out of my butt.”) Mrs. R, if you see this, thanks. I’m sure that she and my mom have the coffee going and are getting caught up.

Then came the call from a shell-shocked close friend whose late 80-something year old parents are engaging in synchronized self destruction. Her mom is in supported living; her dad in hospice. My face froze in the deer-in-headlights position for her.

Yesterday was acupuncture day. There had been a group of elders who had pretty much grown up here in the little town, and treated their weekly treatments as they might going out for coffee or another social event. None of them were there. One had lost his license due to age related problems, another had fallen and broken her arm, the third had another health crisis that prevented him from coming. The community treatment room was entirely too quiet.

And yesterday came news that the husband of another friend is facing a cardiac bypass in the next few days. He has a complicated medical history to begin with, but is going ahead with the surgery despite the risks. He’s tried everything else, and would not be going ahead with it if he didn’t feel that it was warranted.

We wait. We ask the Great Mystery for the best possible outcome. We burn so much incense that the sheriff’s deputies might catch a whiff and show up with a probable cause warrant.

Pause, inhale. Be aware of the cool damp earth supporting my feet, the scent of the incense and the smoke from the piles of pruned branches, fallen leaves, and other plant matter burning to expedite its return to the earth.

Pause, aware that some day, hopefully not for a long time, I will finish the westward walk and step through the veil, reunited with the ones who have gone on before.

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