This summer is floating like the ever moving clouds above us, going by so quickly. Nothing new there, but when you are in the middle of it you feel the swiftness of time, however non-existent it may be a la Einstein and all his followers. My mother is 92 years old or soon will be (Sept. 9, 1919 is the day she was born). I have the sense from time to time of the great white waves, wings, of angels, of something, passing over her head, beating the air, smoothing her way into the Infinite. I had this with my father as he prepared to leave his body, but I did not know what it was at the time.
I wrote a poem about it, yet, I had no idea what it was. Now it is back. The peace and the whirling waves of spacetime are very vivid. I know that she will go soon, though it is not something I want to speak of to her. I feel the “angels” coming in and out of the space above her… not that I know whether there are really angels, but there is a certain special energy around her that transfigures all her days. She is going, going, and yet, as the Zen people say, there is no coming and no going. It is like the waves of the ocean. “Vanishing over and over…” a shiny bit of gold in the water, a worn shell, appears again and again, going nowhere, yet ever being tossed by the sea. And because she is an artist of the highest caliber and a vividly aware psychic– who is not entirely aware now because of her age– her life is flowing away in a more conscious and yet less knowing way than perhaps someone else’s might. The great shroud of the sea rolls on as it rolled five thousand years ago.
I am hoping that this passing will be peaceful and joyous. Maybe she will “see” my lost brother again. I know not whether such visions are true or simply a product of the dying brain producing “second bardo” imagery… but may she see him, and may the reunion be a joyful one. Yet I imagine that she will just go out on the tide of clouds, the beat of wings. The waves of life floating ever farther away.