Turn Around

New Zealand wild beauty

Here I am, back in the United States of America for the first time since September 12 of last year. Following the scenario that seems sketched out for my life, THE DREAM has surprised me again and put me on a stage with a strange set and I have to improvise my part.

In New Zealand I had spent ten days on the south island and was preparing to go to the north island and explore further, making paintings, writing, and producing photographs when my mother died suddenly. I had been feeling strange for about week—bewilderment and tinges of grief after being adrift for so long, and then the news arrived to complicate my inner life further. Perhaps I had been unconsciously anticipating the death, knowing it would happen soon. My mother and I always affirmed our bond with each other by ending our conversations with statements of love and affection.

I felt better after determining to go back for the memorial. Yes, I would not be visiting the spectacular north island and doing what I had planned, but I would be going “home” and getting closure, bonding and celebrating with others my mother's life.

The home of my parents in Santa Barbara, California, USA

I have been alone in the home of my parents for several days. My sister arrived last night and a brother is to arrive today. Another brother is already living in Santa Barbara, and one brother is not coming—he lives in New York state. I have had continued feelings of being adrift and not knowing the future or being excited about it. But I am working at improving. There are reasons for everything that I feel, going back over the years and now with the loss of my mother. But yesterday I realized I could turn around the feelings of grief that are associated with loss. It takes willpower but I am doing it consciously—celebrating instead of grieving.

An "angel" cloud that formed over the house, the second night

Remember The Love

Fourteen years ago, my daughter Naomi died at the the age of nineteen. She fought two hard years against cancer, and held to her hope and faith until the end. Four days before she died, we flew home to Santa Fe, New Mexico from San Francisco, California, on a private jet—an air ambulance, because commercial travel was too risky. We wanted her home to die.

Once home, waiting for the inevitable, Naomi remained calm . . . even when she looked up at me from where she sat on a couch reading and gazing steadily into my eyes, said, “Dad, I am concerned.”

Naomi had kept a diary since she was twelve years old, and continued writing until the end. The morning of the day before she died she scribbled down in weak handwriting on a crumpled piece of paper: Dream of a blissful cruise, I don't remember much of it. I just remember glimpses of it. I am happy, and I can eat a lot. Because the cancer had made her feel so sick, she had been forcing herself to eat.

The same afternoon, a friend came over, and while he massaged her back, she managed to ask after him and his family, and then say, “I love my body, it has been so good to me.”

The next morning she was drifting in and out of consciousness and gasping for air. A doctor arrived and said her heart was beating violently because her lungs were collapsing with pneumonia and not giving oxygen. “It will give out soon” he said.

Naomi died in the afternoon, and a gentle breeze blew in, clouds came and a light rain came to end a drought we had been experiencing. The sun shone through the clouds and a rainbow formed over our house where her body rested in her bedroom.

Since her death, I have asked God that Naomi be my spiritual ally—a guiding light. She has visited my body and taken away ills. I have felt washed by her presence and since her death have only been sick a couple of times. Her spirit always gives me encouragement, and when times are tough, she whispers in my ear, It's not so bad; keep smiling and remember the love.

A Mystery

I must admit to being a bit startled when I found myself sitting in a theater and the audience all carried programs with a simple cover—only a single image—one that I had made and then forgotten.

My wife and I were given complimentary tickets for an intimate performance of a little-known play: Miss Jairus, A Mystery in Four Tableuax by Michelde Ghelderode (3 April 1898, Ixelles – 1962, Brussels). The play opens with a scene of a distraught father outside the room where his 16 year-old daughter is on the verge of death. Immediately, I came under a spell . . . because at one time I was in the same situation when my own daughter Naomi fell ill and died—and now here I was watching my own life being acted out. 

As the moments unfolded, I began to see that the hand of fate had put me in the audience, with one of my images on the cover of the program.

 The grand scheme had begun earlier, when David Olson, director of Theaterwork had begun preparations for production of a mystical play and while he was in an eclectic resale shop in Santa Fe, had spotted a piece of artwork that had resonated with him. He thought it was apropos for the play he was directing, so he bought it and then tracked me down for permission to use it for the cover of his program. When he spoke with me, at first I did not know what image he was describing; “A woman dressed in cloth, walking with the moon behind her head.” He brought the painting to my gallery and I immediately recognized it as a piece from my past, and the "moon" was actually a halo. In the brochure, and on an easel in the lobby, the piece is now called, “Moon Halo”.

Here is brief description of the play, taken from The Harvard Crimson, by Joel Cohen, October 19, 1964:
De Ghelderode sets Miss Jairus, in the house of a merchant in medieval Bruges. As the merchant Jairus and three old hags who are professional mourners keep a drunken vigil over his dead daughter, the daughter's fiancé suddenly brings in a sorcerer who has been confounding the local clerics and physicians. The fiancé, Jacquelin, cannot stand to lose Miss Jairus and demands that the sorcerer awake her.

When the sorcerer does, Blandine objects to being awakened; she no longer knows her mother, father, or fiancé. Neither truly alive nor truly dead, she begins the long, sleepless wait for another death.

The ringing of distant bells, the coming of Death, as Lazarus, the whining and howling of mourners and a premonitory dog are all techniques of mystery and horror de Ghelderode has used in other plays. They combine in Miss Jairus with a plot-skeleton which is parable. In the final act, on Easter, as Miss Jairus dies, the townsfolk commemorate the Holy Day by taking the sorcerer to a hill outside the town and crucifying him.

In short, I feel that a conjurer acted behind the scenes to put me in this play, and we witnessed this stunning performance on the eve of Fathers Day.

Spirit Is Manifest

The tree on the right died at the same time as Chamo.

“Every one who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that a spirit is manifest in the laws of the Universe-a spirit vastly superior to that of man, and one in the face of which we with our modest powers must feel humble.”
Albert Einstein

When I traveled in Asia, I often saw homemade shrines with offerings to Spirit. These shrines held a place of sacred importance and took up but little space in a home or place of business. Often they sat in a corner somewhere. A figurine representing Buddha or Krishna, or another saint sat on a pedestal, and all around were placed offerings . . . candles, incense, food, money—even cigarettes. These offerings were given to please Spirit, and in so doing, the giver hoped to get a blessing in return. This might be health or healing, or prosperity, or any of many other forms of blessing.

I am aware that the spiritual world is powerful and invisible, and that it affects every element of our physical existence. Spiritual signs can be read from physical phenomenon.

Chamo, at about three months.

Recently, this was made apparent to me again when we lost our puppy, Chamo, to an illness. He had come to us with a hidden birth defect that caused him to become ill. He was operated on and recovered, but then became ill again, and we had to put him to rest. Two weeks before, I noticed one of the trees outside my art gallery was dying. It had stood in a vase outside the entrance—opposite another tree on the other side. When Chamo died, the tree died also.

I had seen this sign from Spirit, heralding death, on another occasion. When my daughter Naomi was eighteen, she was fighting cancer. As a child, she had brought home two pine tree sprigs, and planted them on our property. They sprang up and grew until I decided that they would be better at the top of our driveway, framing the entrance, so I moved them. They continued growing, and I often thought that they symbolized Naomi and I. At one point, midway through Naomi’s struggle, during a drought, one of the trees began withering, despite my watering it. At one point, Naomi arrived home from California where she was living and being treated, and the tree had died. She was upset and scolded me for moving it from its original spot. Naomi died soon afterward. I planted a new tree, which has flourished . . . as I am convinced that she is flourishing in the spirit world.
See my previous post: Endlessly Changing

An Incredible Story

I heard an incredible story recently. At the health club I attend, I had just finished swimming and went to soak in the hot tub. I got in, and a woman looked intently at me and said, “Are you Steven Boone? I lived near you some years ago . . . and have read your book, A Heart Traced In Sand. My name is Cassie”  I did not recognize her, but nodded hello and we began talking about my former neighborhood. Soon the subject came to loss and death. She said she had lost her husband, mother and father, all within a short time span. We talked about soul life, and then she began recounting her story. It is as follows:
Her mother died in October, and some six months later, in March, Cassie traveled from New Mexico to Pennsylvania for a memorial gathering in the community where her mother had lived. At the neighborhood park where the memorial was to happen the next day, by chance, she met a man who had known her mother. They said hello and chatted, and then the man asked after her mother. Cassie replied that her mother was dead. The man acted surprised and then asked when the mother had died. Cassie said, “Last October.” At this, the man turned pale, and suddenly walked away.

The next day, the same man was at the memorial, and Cassie followed him to pursue their conversation. He said, “Well, just a month ago, in the evening, I saw your mother outside of our house and went to talk with her. After I came back inside, my wife went out to talk with her. We both spoke with her, and she seemed fine.”

Since the conversation, Cassie has stayed in touch with the man, and he confides that the event has radically reshaped his thinking.

This is another reason I call this life, THE DREAM.

Whenever We Ponder God

Whenever we ponder God, we are limited by the boundaries of our understanding, and soon find we must abandon hope of comprehension. For instance, our own bodies are largely mysterious to us . . . let alone the origin of matter. What I know is that the universe is intelligent beyond my imagination, that it is not by “accident”, nor is it simply the manifestation of un-intelligent chaos.

I think people have trouble accepting God because they want Him to conform to their expectations. They do not want to accept that an all-powerful, all-knowing Being who is loving will watch as horrible things occur in the world and people suffer. A “good” father would not create children with deformities who then suffer from birth and die prematurely; would He? Just looking around, we see that this world our perfect God created is far from perfect.
In my view, I still believe in God because the evidences of His might are everywhere. There is intelligence and magnificent power that exists throughout time and space and encompasses us. Certainly, when we see suffering that an almighty God could prevent, it is perplexing and painful. My daughter died of cancer when she was nineteen, and died horrifically. I watched as her lungs shut down and life turned against her, suffocating her slowly day by day, until she was gasping for air, the veins in her face and neck bulging in exertion and at last, she died. All the while, everyone was praying for healing and relief.

I believe that suffering and pain is a mysterious part of God’s plan, as much as joy, peace and happiness.

Naomi became wise beyond her years during her illness. In a way, her suffering became her teacher, and she grew enormously in this school. She said, “Hardship will make us stronger. I think that in every situation there is good in it.” See my book about Naomi, death and dying.

Many years ago, I had a dream about God: I was outdoors, at night in an open space, alone. I gazed up into the heavens and studied the small constellation called Pleiades. They were so far away in time and space and I knew God made them shine, but then how could He also be in little me too, here on earth at the same time? At that moment, a person, invisible to me and very near, spoke words that rang in my ears: “He is as close to you as your own self.” I continued looking into the night sky, gazing at the Pleiades, but instantly, a tremendous change in perception occurred within. I was no longer an outside observer of the universe, but felt the universe unfold inside of me, extending far beyond myself. The powerful shift in consciousness was startling.

Lately, as I go to sleep, I think of God and give thanks that He is Himself, (if you know what I mean.)

All Steven Boone blogs at My Fairy Tale Life

One Soul In Two Bodies

“Oh God, break me into nothing so that I might be born again.” I silently spoke these words to the Creator, realizing that the hard places in me were like dead regions that could not be cultivated and needed something very powerful to break them so as to begin anew. Within two years I was in a doctor’s office with my daughter Naomi. When the physician entered the room where we waited and with a grim face announced she had cancer, and a huge tumor in her hip, my world collapsed and I was shaken to the core. All the hard places in me broke.
Naomi died ten years ago. She was an empath. We had always been so close as to be almost one soul in two bodies. Sometimes I have questioned, did she "hear" my prayer to be broken into nothing, and then offer her self as sacrifice to God to accomplish this impossible task? Also, an empath physically feels what others experience, and Naomi acutely felt her mother's mental illness. Or maybe, because I am also an empath, I anticipated future events, because I intuitively knew something was going wrong with my daughter. In fact, just before Naomi was diagnosed with her illness, I was not sleeping well. Vague feelings of calamity were plaguing me as I went to bed, and I felt them very close, but could not understand why.
When Naomi passed away, I had already died a thousand times over and was completely broken apart. The same day she died, as her body lay at rest in her bedroom, I felt her spirit arrive while I was resting in my room, and with an overarching and powerful grace, give me a message to love life unconditionally—and this was my new beginning.
Since then, I have barely ever been sick, and wonder if she took so much pain at the end of her short life that it was for the both of us, and that she swept illness from me for years to come.
For more about Naomi, death and dying, spirituality, go to: http://heartsand.com