• Is This The Real Life

    • August 5, 2010 8:30 am

    Dearest Readers,

    If you have been reading this blog for a while you will remember my friend Leanne. She was killed by cancer just a few short months ago. I think of her often, acknowledge her in little ways, say prayers in her name and even speak directly to her. It all  helps.

    Last  night she appeared in my dreams. Have you ever had a dream about someone who is dead? It takes a moment to register first that the person is alive before your very eyes and second that he/she really did die in waking life. The sensation is almost impossible to describe.

    When Leanne and I met in the dream we were in a classroom surrounded by our high school chums. Not surprising. This is where she and I spent most of our time together. All of a sudden, there she was.

    “You’re alive!” I said.

    “Yeah,” she said, “I know. It’s pretty amazing.”

    She looked amazing. Like she did when we were teenagers: healthy, vibrant, glamorous. In fact, Leanne still had all of these qualities when she was living with cancer. She was as gorgeous as ever.

    But in the dream there was something different about her. Despite her radiant beauty there was a stiffness and a puffiness in her face. I have seen bodies that have been embalmed. Her jaw looked somewhat like this.

    I’m sorry if that’s morbid. But the unnaturalness in her face kept reminding my conscious self that I was dreaming. Something was not right.

    And yet the reunion was celebratory. Leanne was alive! Alive. Incredible. And so real. When I awoke I couldn’t believe it. I got to see her, to speak with her, to be near her again.

    Did it really happen? Did she visit me? Can the spirit of a person come to another person through a dream?

    Once a friend of mine gave me a card that said, “I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am a butterfly dreaming I am a man.” The quote is by Chuang Tzu, an ancient Chinese Philosopher who may or may not have existed.

    The quote, according to Burton Watson, an “accomplished translator of Chinese and Japanese literature and poetry”, references “the Transformation of Things.”

    I found this quote when I Googled “the transformation of things”:

    “[The butterfly dream] shows that, although in ordinary appearance there are differences between things, in delusions or in dreams one thing can also be another. The transformation of things proves that the differences among things are not absolute.”

    In my dreams Leanne is alive. In waking life she is not. The difference between these two truths is not absolute. “Absolute” means “final”.

    Leanne’s death was final. And yet not. Wait a minute, am I a butterfly?

    Inspiring Message of the Day: Life has so many puzzles and riddles. I cannot solve them all. But I can embrace them. I can embrace the Mystery and be held by its Great Power.

    Post 509

    • May 28, 2010 9:33 am

    Dearest Readers,

    A valuable piece of knowing was given to me yesterday in the counseling session at Hospice Yukon. It has created an opening in my way of thinking. A fissure of new understanding.

    One of the things I have been struggling with is the “right to grieve”. Leanne and I were close over 20 years ago. Our contact since then has been minimal. Am I really allowed to mourn? It sounds crazy but I have been wondering about these things.

    The counsellor said something like this in response to my question:

    Your depth of grief over a person’s death is directly connected to how deeply you loved her/him. That is all.

    This simple and beautiful statement gave me permission to feel whatever it is I am feeling with total freedom.

    I will carry this little piece of wisdom with me always. Thank-you Anthony!

    Inspiring Message of the Day: When we love deeply we risk having to grieve deeply. It would be safer never to risk that love and so avoid the pain. But living life to its fullest involves embracing both these aspects of Being. Like conjoined twins, joy and grief are inseparable mates.

    Hear(t)

    • May 27, 2010 8:31 am

    Dearest Readers,

    As some of you may recall, my friend Leanne died a month ago. It’s hard to believe that much time has already gone by. Zoom! I have thought of her many times, prayed for her and her family, remembered her laugh.

    Shortly after Leanne died I made an appointment with Hospice Yukon. They provide free counseling for those who have experienced loss and I decided to take advantage of it. Their counsellor was away and so the appointment was made for weeks later. That day has come.

    Already I’ve been planning what I’m going to say. Already I’ve been wondering if I really need to go. If I were to listen to the voices in my head I would have canceled the appointment long ago.

    Thank goodness I’ve stopped listening to those voices! When I first went into Hospice the lovely and kind receptionist gave me a little red heart; a tiny cushion with rudimentary stitches crookedly holding it together. It came with a little slip of paper that said, “A reminder to hold our own hearts tenderly.”

    How I need this reminder! I’m keeping this appointment today because I need to hold my own heart tenderly. I need to remember that there is grief to be expressed. I need to allow myself to be supported, encouraged and heard.

    It’s tempting to think, “I’m fine. I don’t need any help. I’ve grieved enough.” Feeling our feelings happens to be one of the most terrifying things out there. But if I can give myself permission to connect to my heart then I allow my deepest feelings to be felt. I honour them, I honour me.

    And I honour Leanne.

    Inspiring Message of the Day: Do I have someone with whom I can share my deepest feelings? Someone who will hear the expression of my heart without judgment and with total compassion? I will seek out that person and give myself permission to feel my feelings and to be heard.

    The Richness of Being

    • May 8, 2010 10:44 am

    Dearest Readers,

    How exquisite and recondite is Life that we can be weeping in grief one moment and laughing our guts out the next?

    As most of you know I have been blogging of late about the death of my friend Leanne Coppen. Before she died, when her friends and family were still convinced that she was going to beat the cancer, I sent an email to one of Leanne’s friends who had taken on the responsibility of gathering items for a silent auction to raise money for Leanne’s experimental treatment in Detroit.

    The gift I had to offer was an hour of Inspiring Coaching. The woman who was looking after the auction emailed me back and said, “Great!” A few days after Leanne died I emailed this woman to check in, acknowledging the sadness of it all as well as the connections, such as ours, Leanne had managed to unwittingly create.

    This lovely woman then scanned and emailed me a copy of the program from Leanne’s funeral as well as the text from Leanne’s father’s eulogy. As I read through his words yesterday I wept with profound sorrow.

    Then I wiped my tears, finished the task at hand and made lunch. Reading through The New Yorker as I ate I came across a cartoon called “F.A.Q.s about the Hadron Collider.”

    Now the only reason I know what the Hadron Collider is is because I read an article about it in The New Yorker months ago. The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) is something out of a Hollywood movie. It was developed, essentially, with the purpose of understanding the nature of the Big Bang, and in some way, will attempt to mimic the Big Bang itself, if they can ever get it to work. The LHC, its construction, its function and its operation, are astonishing things to wrap one’s brain around.

    So there I am, fresh from a deep cry over the death of my friend, reading this comic by Roz Chast, cracking up laughing.

    The cartoon depicts a brochure with a crowd of booby-looking people gathered together to ask questions about the LHC.

    “What would happen if I went inside it?” asks a Gomer Pyle-ish boy.

    Answer: Just. Don’t.

    “How many miles of pipes and whatnot are in it?” asks a Dame Edna-ish lady.

    Answer: A bajillion.

    “How much did it cost?” she continues.

    Answer: Forty squillion.

    And the best one of all: “If I concentrate ultra-hard, will I ever be able to understand it?”

    Answer: No.

    I’m telling you, I was laughing out loud, all alone, in my apartment, trying not to choke on my food.

    It occurred to me that I had just been balling and that is when I marveled at the mysteries of Being and since Leanne was a comic genius I knew she’d approve. After all, her departing words for all of her loved ones and faithful followers was, “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”

    Inspiring Message of the Day: There is so much possibility in every moment. Grief is necessary. Laughter is vital. We are alive.