When the heart grieves over what it has lost,
the spirit rejoices over what it has found.
~Sufi proverb
Two months ago my beloved died. The person I was died with her. We were soul playmates for 45 years. I look forward to being able to share stories of her life and how she came to end it, and of course what I’m learning that might be useful to others. For now, my best offering is a couple of dreams that floated my way on recent back-to-back excursions into the night kitchen.
The day before two months:
I’m on the rear seat of a powerful, fast moving snowmobile, sitting behind someone I obviously trust because he is maneuvering along the knife’s edge of an extremely high mountain top, part of a range like the Himalayas. The available trail space is so narrow that turning around is impossible. Suddenly he stops and says he has left his wallet and other important papers back about a half-mile where we had recently taken a break, and that he would have to hike back and retrieve them. I’m able to see him all the while he is making his way, so I’m watching as, when he reaches the spot where his belongings are, he loses his balance, slides down a slope of some 50 feet then drops over a cliff landing a hundred feet or more below––and doesn’t move. There is nothing I can do to help him except fire up the snowmobile and keep going to wherever civilization is ahead. But the thing is I’ve never before driven a snowmobile. I’m pretty sure I can figure out the basics of operation, but since this setting leaves all but no room for error, surrendering to God with a smile of thanks for the opportunity to trust like never before is the order of the day.
The day of two months:
For reasons unknown I find myself needing to hitch-hike at a rather busy roundabout. Almost immediately a smallish car pulls up with five young people in it: four teenagers and a boy of maybe eight. All five kids and the car are covered in the kind of dust one might expect after a week’s race across the Sahara. The driver is the oldest of the group, a fellow of 16 I’d say. Three teens a bit younger fill the backseat. One of the them, a girl sitting behind the driver, feels like who my beloved must have been at that age. The car was of a vintage that the front seat was bench. The little boy scooches over to the center so I can ride shotgun. To give him all the room I can I extend my left arm along the top/back of the front seat, my hand coming to rest behind the driver. The girl who reminds me of my beloved reaches out, takes my hand, and kisses the cameo ring I wear that symbolizes the principle that character is revealed through action.
❦
Dear Steve, I’m grateful to read your words and to see that you are writing once again. Your offerings hold value for all of us. Thinking of you.
Dear Steve & Dear,
My condolences that your physical bodies are not playing together anymore. Your spirits will continue to have many play dates through vivid dreams, like this young girl who took Steve’s hand.
You both changed my life, though we didn’t meet many times, in body. The words (spoke & written) and silence that you both shared with me have lead me to a more meaningful life, here.
Steve, you have touched so many and made this mixed up world a wee bit nicer. You are smart, kind, and a true gift. May your dreams flourish as you grieve Dear’s gentle touch, her soft voice, her irreplaceable scent.
Thinking of you both with gratitude.
Oh my. My heart goes out to you. Thanks for your stories. Another visit would be wonderful next time your snowmobile passes by.
Oh my dearest Steve – I am so very sorry to hear of the death of your beloved. I know this great bittersweet circle of life, where profound sadness and resurrection meet. I will hold you in my heart, in love and light. I have met neither one of you face to face, and wish I had. This feels personal to me because your gift of writing connects people at the level of soul. I wish for you peace and courage in the days ahead.
With love,
your Minnesota friend, Colleen
With love and profound empathy, I honor your love and your relationship with your Beloved.
I did not know of this, Steve. Profound condolences. Thanks for returning.
Steve, Thank you for sharing. It helps. With much gratitude, Jess
My heart aches for your loss, Steve. Know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.
Steve, it makes my heart sad to hear of the loss of your beloved. I pray you have more dreams of her. I love it when my Dad visits in a dream. Thinking of you my friend.
Condolences Steve and sending good thoughts your way,
I am so so sorry for the void in your life——- Blessed Be sue
My dear friend. I am cherishing the Dear book you created and thank you for gifting something so full of love and beauty to me. I am holding you loosely and with love, in my heart.
Steve, surrender and trust are as powerful as love, in fact are acts of love. And grief also is love. How fortunate you are to have had such depth of emotion. And how fortunate we are that you share your thoughts with us. ♡
Steve
My dear Friend….I had taken a few months off from a lot of things including your post. I just read this post on January 20, 2020. In the Road Less Traveled it begins with……Life Is Difficult. My Heart goes out to you…I very much recall coming to visit you in Bloomfield and meeting your Beloved.
Thank you for sharing your grief.
Jim