Another Lifetime

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Bodies just can't contain our inhabiting spirit. We spill out of our pores. Laughter. Tears. Poetry. Painting. What lingers behind when we have left the room. These are all floating or landed bits of us, bubbled over and out. It is a miracle more doesn't escape. I wonder if death is the spirit's final triumph over imprisoning skin and bones.

My little Suki was like the personification of a wild, cackling, happy laugh. She passed away early this morning while we were asleep. Her energy still ricochets across the walls. Soon she will be out and in the buzzing bee, the strung out squirrel, the girlish butterfly, the affectionate buttercup, the unruly wildflowers, until she is scattered further still towards freedom.

6 comments:

♥ Boomer ♥ said...: Oh, I'm sorry. I know it hurts. But what beautiful thoughts you have expressed. And her life had and still has great meaning.; May 23, 2009 at 4:49 PM
kendalee said...: What a lovely way to look at it Sheila - the spirit's final triumph... I'm sure this is true. Energy is never lost, it just transforms. Getting used to the space where the body used to be is a sad readjustment for those left behind though. So I'm sorry for your loss of Suki's little smile and love-you-can-touch presence. Very sorry.; May 23, 2009 at 8:34 PM
LifeIsArt said...: I'm new to your blog...your writing is incredible. It gives me chills and makes me want to come back for more!
I am so sorry for your love loss.; May 24, 2009 at 4:41 AM
Maria said...: Sorry you've lost a piece of your heart, but what a beautiful post, how wonderful to put this in such a joyful light. I will remember always this beautiful viewpoint and look a little differently at the world around me.; May 24, 2009 at 7:14 AM
Beverly Ash Gilbert said...: Beautiful that you still feel her energy and happiness. She will always be with you in all that your heart sees. It is so hard to say goodbye and I am so sorry for your loss.; May 25, 2009 at 6:06 AM
Anil P said...: Sorry to hear about Suki.

Memories dwell in one's own personal reality of the moment, albeit a remembered reality.; May 25, 2009 at 11:20 AM

What I'm Reading

Three Cups of Tea, Greg Mortenson

The Hour I First Believed, Wally Lamb

The Bookseller of Kabul, Åsne Seierstad

The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox, Maggie O'Farrell
"Esme stares at the spiked rocks. She stares and stares until they begin to lose their third dimension, until they begin to look unfamiliar, insubstantial. Like the way words said over and over become just a slurry of a sound. She says the word 'word' over and over in her head until she hears only 'dwur-dwur-dwur'. She is aware of those numbers, the two and the eight, trying to find a place to slip back in. They have been lurking at the edges where she pushed them and they are mounting an assault, a break-in. She won't have it. She will not."

The House of Seven Gables, Nathaniel Hawthorne
"But as for the old structure of our story, its white-oak frame, and its boards, shingles, and crumbling plaster, and even the huge, clustered chimney in the midst, seemed to constitute only the least and meanest part of its reality. So much of mankind's varied experience had passed there, -so much had been suffered, and something, too, enjoyed,- that the very timbers were oozy, as with the moisture of a heart."

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
"She was sitting up now. My arm was around her and she was leaning back against me, and we were quite calm. She was looking into my eyes with that way she had of looking that made you wonder whether she really saw out of her own eyes. They would look on and on after every one else's eyes in the world would have stopped looking. She looked as though there were nothing on earth she would not look at like that, and really she was afraid of so many things"

The Life You Can Save: Acting now to end world poverty, Peter Singer
"In the United States, 97 percent of those classified by the Census Bureau as poor own a color TV. Three quarters of them own a car. Three quarters of them have air conditioning. All have access to health care. I am not quoting these figures to deny that the poor in the United States face genuine difficulties. Nevertheless, for most, these difficulties are of a different order than those of the world's poorest people."

Kiss Me Like a Stranger: My search for love and art, Gene Wilder

Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert
"I walked into an office building one afternoon in a hurry, dashed into the waiting elevator. As I rushed in, I caught an unexpected glimpse of myself in a security mirror's reflection. In that moment my brain did an odd thing-it fired off this split second message: 'Hey! You know her! That's a friend of yours!' And I actually ran forward toward my own reflection with a smile, ready to welcome that girl whose name I had lost but whose face was so familiar......Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend"

The Kindness of Strangers, Katrina Kittle

The Alchemist, Paolo Coelho, translated by Alan Clarke
"'Everyone on earth has a treasure that awaits him,' his heart said. 'We, people's hearts, seldom say much about those treasures, because people no longer want to go in search of them. We speak of them only to children. Later, we simply let life proceed, in its own direction, towards its own fate. But, unfortunately, very few follow the path laid out for them- the path to their Personal Legends, and to happiness. Most people see the world as a threatening place. So, we, their hearts, speak more and more softly. We never stop speaking out, but we begin to hope that our words won't be heard: we don't want people to suffer because they don't follow their hearts.'"

Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf
"For this is the truth about our soul, he thought, our self, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-wrinkled waves;"

The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
"The room hovered around me with great gentleness, as if the chairs and the tables and the walls were witholding their weight out of sympathy for my sudden frailty"

Another Lifetime

Saturday, May 23, 2009

6 comments:

What I'm Reading

Copyright

About Me