Yesterday a dear friend told me her husband died. He was one of our elders. I know through our conversations that they companioned one another – as wild geese do.
This morning I share three Mary Oliver poems. These first two I came across by happenstance, searching (on scanty memory bits) for the third – my intended first and only.
Today I am wrapping up mixing an album I’ve intended to record since 17 years old. Though it’s an overly expensive endeavor for us, and I am inexperienced and flawed in bringing creations to public attention, a friend said, “What are you gonna do [in regards to money], take it with you?”
I try to practice and carry a reverence, gratitude and kinship for death. It is one certainty in a sea of myriad shifting uncertainties. It’s a hard but necessary one to befriend, methinks.
Blessings for Phyllis, her husband, who has returned from whence we came, their family, and us all.