My dear friend Allison sent me, as a response to my post about celebrating the 2012, an e-mail about her experience and I found it so beautiful, inspiring and resonating with myself, that I asked her whether I could post it here. And I am so grateful that she said yes to that. So, please enjoy:
I wanted to share something with you because it was partially enabled, or at least came into focus as a result of your blog post on new year’s eve.
Yesterday I went to the funeral of the woman I’ve been visiting each week for the past 7 months (I’m a hospice volunteer).
She died of cancer on Wednesday after suffering pretty intensely at the end. Yet, despite all of that, our weekly 4 hours were spent in simple conversation as she told me funny stories about Guyana and how dogs and monkeys can become best friends, what kind of fruit grows around her house, and her childhood memories of snake and crocodile encounters.
It was a very touching funeral and a very different experience for me because every other funeral I’ve been to is full of such personal grief that everything else is shut out. In this case though, I didn’t have the same level of grief. Yes I was sad but it did not consume me.
I sat alone at the back of a big cathedral as her grandchildren and great grandchildren rolled her casket up the aisle to the front. I sat in the church and listened to the mass and the singing and the kind words about her and felt the HUGE stirring of heart energy, as well as the lump in my throat as I tried not to cry. I was happy to be alone in my own experience without people around me.
I closed my eyes and felt this heart energy and how enormous it is. I was so incredibly overwhelmed with thankfulness for having been able to get to know this woman, that our paths could cross.
It was so difficult to just sit and experience such a massive heart experience. It’s so strange because my instinct is to try to move away from its intensity. It’s so intense to be fully immersed in such energy. So hard.
The mind fears it and thinks it will overwhelm us, like a big huge wave in the ocean that pulls your feet out from under you and drags you under the water threatening your own death.
The more I sat there, the more it opened and opened. It made me think of a woman’s cervix that needs its time to stretch so the baby can pass through. It’s a painful experience but one worth enduring. I had to breathe and breathe and breathe to be able to stay with it. It was so enormously difficult as the energy was so enormously huge.
And I thought of your blog post and what you had written and your experience with Marjeta and it helped me to just stay right there and let it happen.
It’s just so strange how all of our paths cross and we spend moments together and tell each other our stories and all those stories and encounters come together to form the full picture of our own lives.
And how each moment is really so simple and maybe, by itself, insignificant, but when you wrap it all up at the end of someone’s life and you sit there and realize how you’ve been affected by their very existence, the whole of humanity seems that much more connected, not disconnected.
It all seems so meaningful, but not in a word-based meaningful way; its a heart-based, wordless sort of meaningfulness.
As I sat at home afterwards, alone, I realized I am lucky to be able to feel this intensity, that whatever this emotional nature of mine is, it allows me to experience the world with great depth and intensity. And that makes me lucky.
But, it is true that my main task in life is just learning how to handle the enormity of this energy as it flows through me; to be able to open that heart centre more and more. That’s it.
These lives that we each have are so much more meaningful than I think any of us can even grasp.
I just wanted to tell you this because I felt that your experience on New Year’s Eve was actually part of my experience yesterday and that my experience yesterday, will become a part of other people’s experience on another day. And that we all need to actually say that this is in fact happening, and it’s not just a weird little thing that only one person goes through but instead something that we all share; not really personal at all.
So thank you. Thank you for writing what you did and telling us all what was happening.