“Touch your inner space, which is nothingness, as silent and empty as the sky; it is your inner sky. Once you settle down in your inner sky, you have come home, and a great maturity arises in your actions, in your behavior. Then whatever you do has grace in it. Then whatever you do is a poetry in itself. You live poetry; your walking becomes dancing, your silence becomes music.”





This quote and the accompanying photo resonated with me today. Once upon a time, after much struggle, I came to this place for a while. And then I lost it again. I can remember reaching a point in my life where the trees had voices and danced in the wind, where there was poetry in my life and I walked daily with a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty of the world.


And then life happened and I lost my way. I stopped seeing and I stopped hearing and I lost my sense of wonder.


And yet, this is only partly true. For once you have discovered and walked this path, and reached the destination, the memory of it becomes a part of you – a latent seed waiting to be born again.


Upon Laureen’s death, and after the immediate shock of it had dissipated slightly, I realized several things. I needed to meditate again. I needed a sense of connection. And I needed to express my grief and sorrow.


Today is the 111th day since Laureen died. Kind of an interesting number actually. In the time since she has passed away I have begun a meditation practice, found an incredible massage therapist, participated in both individual and group grief therapy, started a drawing class, and made arrangements for two long-distance trips this summer. This is what I am doing in order to heal myself from the grief of losing Laureen.


I grieve for her every day. Sometimes it is small things. . . a random thought, a quick glimpse at one of her photographs, or even nothing at all. I saw a graphic on Facebook this morning that summed it up nicely. . .




This is pretty much exactly how it is. It comes and goes like the waves washing onto a beach. I miss her so much. . .


But I am drifting away from the theme of today’s writing. I have discerned that there are all sorts of healing aids drifting around me like the flotsam and jetsam that follows a shipwreck. A book here, a comment there, the chance meeting of an old friend, the random discovery of a healing person. I have the sense that this is all around me intentionally, and that there is a reason for all of it and that it may even eventually coalesce into the next part of my journey. But I cannot yet see the structure that may, or may not, be forming. One thing leads to another, disconnected, and yet they all feel as though they are, at the same time, interconnected.


I went for my first meditation instruction a mere 9 days after Laureen had passed away. And it was only three weeks after her passing that I went for my first massage. Now this may seem to be an atypical method of healing from grief. I can’t say “why” I chose this path, but I can say that it felt absolutely right to do so and time has shown the wisdom of this course of action. Indeed, these two things alone – meditation and massage – have provided a kind of feedback loop wherein the massage gets me back in touch with my physical body and the meditation promotes focus on the internal calmness at my center. After a while, I started bringing meditation into the massage, and awareness-yet-detachment of physicality to meditation. It didn’t hurt that both practitioners were also Reiki people and so there was both subtle and not-so-subtle energy work at play too.


And then the branches started to grow so that one of the people I am doing this work with put me in touch with a group grief meeting and that has proved beneficial and more, and the individual meditation sessions turned into group meditation sessions and, introvert that I am, I discovered that a deeper healing was developing through group work. I am also, slowly, finding that I am able to touch that sense of calmness and acceptance again.


The acceptance is reinforced by books I have read, or are reading now. The first book was written by a medium who talks about connecting with loved ones who have passed and how to become aware of their communications with us. It turns out that meditation is conducive to aiding in this process as it fosters stillness and silent awareness. The second book, which I am reading now, represents a specific example of someone who has passed having a dialogue with the family that they left behind and it reaffirms many of the beliefs that Laureen and I held, and in which I had begun to doubt immediately upon her passing. In short, I am rediscovering my faith.


I feel now as though I am beginning to hear her messages and feel her influence. Is this a trick of the mind that is seeking to make sense out of something that makes no sense? I cannot say. I imagine, in the end, that this is where that element of faith comes in. You either believe, or you do not. I do take a bit of the evidenciary tack on this. . . if something just seems a little too “odd” to be coincidence, then I put aside my skepticism and believe.


I think maybe the first time I really sat up and noticed a communication was after a massage session in which she had really done some serious energy work. I went out to my car, paused for a few minutes to gather myself, and started to drive out of the parking lot. I took notice of the song that was playing on my radio and then I noticed the title, which was on the radio’s screen – A Little Bit Stronger – and while the song is about a relationship break-up, most of it spoke directly to both my actions of that morning, and my feelings at that moment. . .


Woke up late today and I still feel the sting of the pain
But I brushed my teeth anyway
I got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face
I got a little bit stronger

Riding in the car to work and I’m trying to ignore the hurt
So I turned on the radio, stupid song made me think of you
I listened to it for minute but then I changed it
I’m getting a little bit stronger, just a little bit stronger

I know my heart will never be the same
But I’m telling myself I’ll be okay
Even on my weakest days
I get a little bit stronger

Doesn’t happen overnight but you turn around
And a month’s gone by and you realize you haven’t cried


I could have literally written those lyrics that morning.  And this song was immediately followed by another song called, Please Remember Me –


When all our tears have reached the sea.
Part of you will live in me.
Way down deep inside my heart.
The days keep coming without fail.
A new wind is gonna find your sail.
That’s where your journey starts.

You’ll find better love,
Strong as it ever was,
Deep as the river runs,
Warm as the morning sun.
Please remember me.

Just like the waves down by the shore,
We’re gonna keep on coming back for more.
Cause we don’t ever wanna stop.
Out in this brave new world you seek
O’er the valleys and the peaks
And I can see you on the top.

You’ll find better love,
Strong as it ever was,
Deep as the river runs,
Warm as the morning sun.
Please remember me.


By this time, I had tears streaming down my face as I was driving down the highway and I just couldn’t help but believe that this was Laureen, reaching out to me to let me know that she’s around, and she knows what I am going through.


My journey continues, and the incidence of coincidences continues. Even now, as I pause in thought, I hear a crow cawing behind me, and of course, that is the emissary of my Little Black Eagle. Is it her voice, acknowledging my thoughts in this very instant? Or just a random occurrence? Is anything in this world random?


I find solace in the silence of meditation. There also seems to be a certain wisdom contained within the detachment. The world is very full of distractions and even more so in this current age. I find that meditation allows me, briefly, to sink below the surface of distraction and see the calmness that encompasses something far more grand and magical then that which we experience in our rushed out-of-balance daily lives.


And that is something that I lost when I lost Laureen – the belief, the faith, that the world was a magical place. Laureen was a keeper of magic. It was a part of the fabric of her being. Sure – we had to do ordinary things, in an ordinary world – but with Laureen, there was always a touch of magic in all things. The unexpected could happen at any moment. I thought I’d lost that when I lost her. But in the silence of moments, I am discovering that there is still magic there, waiting to be seen if one only looks carefully and closely. And now I find that I am once again able to entertain the notion that perhaps she is not gone in the absolute, but merely exists in a different point of reference, in the next room, if you will, or behind a hidden curtain. And as I learn to silence my thoughts and observe the deeper fabric of our reality, then I may be able to find her once again.


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5 Responses to SILENCE

  1. Walks with Wolves says:

    A truly beautiful entry, John. Loved reading it.

  2. Jenna says:

    John, your thoughts and words are amazingly lovely.

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