Transitions Are Hard

Bodhi is EIGHT MONTHS OLD (!) now!

Why is he so fussy? He has wanted to nurse nonstop, sleep not at all, wants to be held all the time, has started crying in the carseat and whenever we take something away from him, even though its a dangerous pointy or flammable or toxic object. He has three razor sharp teeth, may be cutting another? Luckily he is cuter than ever.

We are sitting here, listening to a "Drivin'" mix CD my Dad made for himself; right now it's playing ELO's "Livin' Thing." Which reminds me of my brother and his amazing band, Skyrocket, and how they did an ENTIRE SHOW that was a tribute to ELO...and my Dad, fortunately, got to see it. I have many memories of him sitting in the living room, listening to ELO (and many other things) as it played through his very fine, acoustically correct stereo system at full blast. Enjoying himself sooo much.

You can read the obituary about my Dad and sign the guestbook if you'd like...let me know.

We had a very small family gathering to send him off; in true form, he was the first person in the family to be cremated. (He was always the first to try anything new.) And to transition through Fire, I think, is powerful.

I read this Rumi poem, deemed appropriate by me since Rumi's teacher, Shamz, was also St. Francis of Assisi's teacher, and my father, like St. Francis, had a natural love and rapport with animals. And it was read at Nate's funeral in "Six Feet Under," a show my Dad (and I) loved watching:

Our death is our wedding with eternity
What is the secret? "God is One."
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
...Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.


And I also read this little bit of text, an email that my teacher and friend Mary wrote me as soon as she heard the news that Dad died:


Dear Liz,

and so... with great courage, trusting the voice of the Spirit deep within the recesses of his heart, Mike broke free from the cacoon, spread his wings and began to soar on the airwaves of love.

I pray for you my dear friend, let your tears flow and know that you have been truly blessed to have loved so deeply.

Shanti. Aum.


We played a short list of my Dad's "Desert Island" songs; he published this list in the early 70s, so I imagine it would have been different if he'd given us a list this year, but I thought they all seemed so appropriate anyway:

"Goodnight Irene" by the Weavers
"All I Have To Offer You Is Me" by Charley Pride
"Light My Fire" by the Doors
"Big City" Merle Haggard
"Someday We'll Be Together" the Supremes
"Is That All There Is?" Peggy Lee

Look Who's Eating Solid Foods

Sweet Potato! So much better than -- ugh -- Rice Cereal.

What Happens When Bodhi Stays at Eila's House

Too Much Fun!

In Front of the Old Man's Business

The Thing About My Dad's Dying...

It's so ugly, and so not how I would have wanted my dear Dad to go out. But of course, it was all his co-creation with the Divine, and everything that has happened was for a reason, which God will reveal to me over time.

so I'm basically at peace with it, and I feel VERY strongly that my Dad is totally at peace with ALL of it.

Time really does heal.

And only LOVE ever dispelled Hate, so said the Buddha. Thus I am bathing the whole situation in LOVE, although it's so tempting to get sick and to hate.

Bodhi helps the healing.

It breaks my heart to know that my Dad so wanted to move to Austin, to spend time with his grandson, whom he only had the chance to meet once. Breaks my heart, but I know it's God's design and not mine.

I packed up his recording studio all by myself, well, I hired movers and they packed it up under my direction, and we moved it all. 30 years of my Dad's BELOVED work all gone in one afternoon. Bodhi was with me all day while they packed it. And it felt like I got to spend one last day with my Dad.

I was with him the night into morning before he died. I told him everything I needed to say, and then some. I was his yoga teacher at the end. I told him about the breath, about the life force, and about surrendering his breath back to Shakti. He was in and out of consciousness, but I breathed with him, and I loved him, and I took in every drop of his suffering, his labored breathing, his twitching, the thinness of his body, how he cried out, how he opened and closed his eyes, how his teeth hurt and how utterly naked and vulnerable he was. I loved him in every single second of it. There was, there is, no part of his life that I do not treasure and hold dear. And then he died without us, just before we arrived, which was perfect. I felt him go. We were in the car, stuck in traffic, on a Saturday morning in Houston, and I felt the ecstasy of his leaving. Absolute freedom, moksha. The ultimate surrender. What an act of courage to die after such pain, to let go and let God just take him. And when they moved his annamaya kosha, his body, into the hearse, to take him away, the sky darkened for a few moments and it rained. Just a little. During the transition from house to funeral home.

So that's what happened.

It sucks, and yet it's perfect. Kind of like Bodhi's birth. I'm so grateful to have experienced all of it.

I had a premonition of him dying. None of us really knew how sick he was. Earlier this year, in March, we took Bodhi to meet his great grandmothers, and my dad's mother (92 years old and kicking!) told us that my Dad's first words, when he just over a year old, came out as a full sentence. He walked into the bathroom where my grandpa was shaving and said "Daddy, did you call me?" Which was not only astonishing for such a young child to say, but gave me chills when she told us about it. I knew that his Daddy, who died some years ago, was truly calling him, now.

So I'm sad, but can see the humor in things. I've been dreaming of my Dad, being with him, just hanging with him, and it's been great.

I have been a rock. This has shown me what I am made of, and I have to say that I am pretty fucking amazing. And so is my brother, who is the funniest person on the planet, yet so tenderhearted and strong. And my husband, who was right there with us. And my best friend Donna, also with us, supporting us. And my sister in law, who seems to know how to take care of everyone and everything and is so wise and compassionate.

Birth and Death, all within months of one another. I feel like I'm finally a full human being. No longer a child. A mother. Next on the Death Wheel. Enjoying the Life Wheel. I'm so lucky to have had my Dad for 44 years.

If this sounds morbid and dark, believe me, it's nothing compared to some of the thoughts I'm having. But I'm definitely not depressed, or PTSD like I thought we'd all be.

It's just that now there is hole in my life where my father used to be.