..but its all happening so fast......

I am in the midst of packing up my life and my families lives. This is move number 19 for me. 19 new homes. 19 new places to sleep...not counting overnight summer camps, prep school and college. I could count the others as halves, right? They should count for something.

As I am now in my mid fifties I feel this move differently than others. As I spend time fawning over family photos I consider sending them to nieces and nephews - to 'younger' members of the family - in order to share rather than box and hide as well as to unload the carrying cases. But then I hesitate, and I stop. I see myself in my nineties taking the time to bring the boxes which house the pictures out - out of their hiding and open them ever so gently with my fragile and well worn fingers to explore my heritage. I can imagine the tenderness I will feel.

I also do not want to do my children's work - the work of having to go through all the stuff. The joy and grief of touching, laughing, remembering, crying; at the memories which are attached to all the stuff. Most of us have done it, most of us will do it - gaze upon our parents collections of memorabilia and think why did they keep this old thing? Or did they really WEAR that? Or yes, I remember that day.....

When my husband and I moved into his parents home to help care for his mother, we moved into what had been 'their' bedroom - but his father had been dead for a few years and none of it was yet cleaned out. I sat on the floor weeping, holding this mans things in my hands, rummaging through jewelry, tokens, a personal history. My husband heard me and traveled up the stairs to see what was wrong. Why? I asked. Why was I doing this? Why wasn't he or his siblings? He quickly and concisely convinced me they did not want to - they had plenty of time - I was doing them a favor - no one wanted to - it was fine - go ahead, do it. I felt like a thief.

I was a thief. A thief stealing a valuable, precious ritual of remembering, grieving and connecting - in transforming a relationship into a yet non defined status. Forgive me, I feel as if I stole moments from you - but my husband, the son of the man who created those moments, your brother, said go ahead; and I did. I wanted to call you, each of you and beg you to not miss this chance, this opportunity for more healing - but it was not to be so. Time had passed, you would have been there if you wanted; long before I was.

The day my mother died my step sister and I had a great time going through her jewelry. My mother was literally known for her jewels; ornate, over the top, suburb, expensive and junk. We laughed at the volume, we giggled at the array, she considered opening a second hand store with them - it would have filled at least two cases - and we fawned over each piece. I had my list of what went to whom and I honored it. And then it was time to choose. My step sister took quite a bit, my sisters niece loved vintage so we sent some her way. I took only a few. The three inch long fake emerald gaudy earrings that only my mother could wear and make them look real, fabulous, outstanding! I found a Native American turquoise piece she never wore, not her style, that was most profoundly mine. My dear step brother in law took it and polished it for me. I rarely take it off. It has now been to sit on altars in temples in India and back. Even though it does not remind me of her style, for she never wore it, it did come from her life. I took some old black beads I remembered her wearing often with suits in the 60's, when she gave teas and had bridge club gatherings. I have one of her wedding bands which I love. When I look down and see that diamond band on my finger my imagination immediately sees her veined long fingers holding a tumbler of scotch or a cigarette.

My father had died seven months prior to my mother. I spent weeks cleaning out their home, creating piles of siblings requests along with my mothers organizing system. For several years, every time one of us liked something, she would write our name on masking tape and place on the bottom of the admired piece, along with her signature; as if it was a legal contract. Bless her. She did not want the five of us; an assortment of half's, steps and full, to go through what she went through when my fathers relatives had passed. She attempted to create some order - and it did help. Fortunately, she left enough to be haggled over, so the ritual could be completely experienced.

At that time I chose to send each of the grandchildren a piece - something small, but a memory of their grandparents. You see their grandparents had lots of stuff, but chose to not have funerals - the honoring of that request did not go over very well. It can be difficult upholding another persons requests, but I would rather do that, than not. We each have the ability to find our own ways grieving, of honoring whatever the relationship.

What is most important is that we do it. We find the ways to grieve, morn, weep, laugh, tell stories, exchange, share, remember. And perhaps those memories will be carried with you into your nineties; as your frail hands open well hid boxes filled with days of the past - lighting up your senses to who you once were, where you had been and how got to where you are.

Showing Up

Paul Ferrini is one of my most beloved authors. In reading his words, my heart opens through the remembrance of what my heart and soul knows. I am also a huge Jesus fan, as I often state, and share with Paul Ferrini moments of meeting, being with, hearing and seeing answers which can only come from Him.

Showing Up is such a difficult thing to do. Who would have thought? I mean, before we stepped into the deep end of the pool, the spiritual path of seeking from the inside out rather than the outside in; showing up meant wearing acceptable clothing and keeping my elbows off the table - another words, keeping my Mother at bay. Now, now that thirty years ago I said yes to my heart and twenty years ago I said yes to the non-physical realms and how many ever years ago it was I said yes to Jesus - well, the definition of showing up now surpasses any way, shape or form
my limited mind imagined.

Beginning an intentional quest outside the parameters of our lives means seeking an inner voice, listening skills beyond our hearing sense and a faith so deep and wide we welcome moments of what others may claim is labeled insanity - and we are more than okay with that!

After several years of walking this path and being with others who have had years of an intentional life - I remain astounded at how our ego expresses itself in all its fears and insecurities. Show up and I will do the rest, is what Ferrini expresses for us, as it was expressed to him through Jesus. No planning, no notes, no dogma, no pretested ideas, no meetings, no well timed out, time tested, pre-determined schedules; just show up.

Come empty. Come empty and open hearted. Come. That's it. Show up here for me and I will do the rest. If you come empty, then I can come through and if I can come through than others will be healed. Come. Come to this place or that place or stay right where you are - but show up. Be the vehicle for me. Come without books, notes, ideas. Come. All you need is to empty yourself - remain open to Love. If you wish, stop looking for love and start giving love - show up and simply give love.

The simplest and the most difficult. The challenge of our lives - show up empty and I will fill you....and through me filling you the Christ essence shines and others are blessed.

We get so caught up in how, what do I DO (????????), what's the BEST way (???????), what should I say........how should I say it........what should I do........

First it was what to wear, then it becomes what to say, then how to express it........and it is all still from the ego.

Just show up. He will do the rest.

Can you do that?