Embracing With Love

Every woman has masculinity and every man has femininity. This is how the sexes relate—otherwise, there could be no understanding. At this time in my life, I do not have a woman partner and it is occasion for me to come into my independent understanding of the yin-yang balance within myself. I made a list of the characteristics of my inner woman and inner man. I picture them meeting and embracing with love, breathing deeply of each other, replenished as if drinking from the same crystal spring, dazzled by the same over-arching heaven.

My inner female:

Beautiful, kind, healthy, radiant, one with nature, honest, faithful, speaks to plants and animals, sexually attractive, laughs and is playful, wealthy, honors the sacred and gives abundantly.

My inner male:

Strong, resilient, healthy, caring, handsome, adventuresome, bold, has elan, a knight, virile, unhindered, creative, capable, rich, abundant, attractive, truthful, has integrity.

Suddenly Vanished

The most difficult experience in life is separation. At birth, it is the baby being forced apart from the mother, coming from the womb and the umbilical cord being cut. Then the weaning from the breast, and if it is too sudden there is much crying. Later, the first steps away from mother and father, going off to school for the first time. As the child grows, new bonds of affection form with friends, and eventually, another separation unfolds with the leaving of home and family to start a new life of independence.

All the while, special care is taken to maintain the all-important bond of spirit. This way, a certain safety and security is assured. Even when there is great distance, the bond of spirit is beyond time and space doing its work.
That bond depends on trust. If trust is broken, then the bond breaks. This is worse than physical separation.

When my teen-aged daughter died at the age of nineteen, it felt as though my best partner in life had suddenly vanished. As if we had been hiking together on a wondrous and difficult mountain, helping each other along, crying and laughing together, in awe and also some fear, holding to one another and absolutely bonded, when of a sudden, she vanished—as if from a ledge she leapt into thin air, leaving me alone on the mountainside . . . taking some of my joy with her. We both knew in advance the perils, and she spoke of her uncertainty that she would remain by my side; not that she did not want to, but the hand of fate had written to her. If she spoke of this, I would respond that we could overcome even the hand of fate. But the higher powers wanted her and my love could not keep her from going to a realm even more high and mighty than the feeble mountain I clung to. Now, I found myself on the same wonderful and difficult mountain, but without my dearest friend, and nothing looked the same.

And so here I am fifteen years later in the same situation. Through a physical, mental and

emotional bond, in marriage to Heidi of the Mountains, we had been exploring the heights of our existence, gaining perspective from our vantage on a mountainside, seeing the low places below us, and dreaming of higher places, when the journey became more strenuous and suddenly tiresome. She doubted, and began longing to go back down. I held her hand to convince her of the most beautiful places we had been and just ahead, more sublimity and our lofty goal within reach. We must be loyal, and patient, to give each other strength to get there. I worried she was abandoning me, reminded of my experience with my daughter. I pleaded, but she turned away . . . I could not go with her, and though heartbroken, kept to the mountain.

It has secrets and charms that speak to me every day—bringing healing. The angelic winds play all around, with lofty, wondrous songs, the air is clear and bright, the path strewn with wildflowers. I will travel on, and deal with my loneliness. I trust that the longer I stay on course, the stronger I will become and more wise. The mountain will offer up its joy to me because I do not leave it, but remain faithful.

Divided

The marriage of Heidi of the Mountains and Steven the Artist is ending. It is agreed that love exists, yet various problems plagued the relationship from the beginning. The two never lived together full time, since Heidi owns a home in another town forty minutes away, where her teen-aged son lives with her half time. Steven resides in the city of his work and where he feels he belongs—Santa Fe, the art capital of the United States. The town where Heidi lives is a suburb of Los Alamos, the birthplace of the atomic bomb—all the homes are the same and the brainy-headed science people are more or less the same too. Of all the places on earth, it is on the list of impossible places for Steven to live. But he tried for awhile. He always anticipated the day her boy would graduate and Heidi and Steven could buy a home together.

Before Steven met Heidi, he had spent over a year living abroad without home or car—like the wind that is free, full and strong, blowing over mountain and ocean, through metropolis and village. He was as comfortable on a camel as he was in a limousine. Happy in a tent amidst lions and water buffalo in the Serengeti or in a marbled palace in Bangkok, Thailand. When he arrived back to Santa Fe, his life had broadened from so many profound experiences gained living in a multitude of cities and traveling over all the continents.

When the two first met, Heidi was modeling nude and Steven was drawing her. The two struck up a business relationship with Heidi acting as an art broker, and affection developed then marriage. The two shared wonderful intimacies and especially love of nature—relishing places such as the sandy beaches of Hawaii, the vastness of the Grand Canyon, the mountains of New Mexico and Colorado, and the excitement of Paris and London and Marrakesh. During this time, Heidi had quit a job she did not like and went to work for Steven in a gallery he opened. Steven had thought initially to work alone in his gallery, painting and selling. Heidi at first said, “maybe we should not work together.” But Steven naturally trusted, and so they became a team. The costs were extraordinarily high, since the rent alone was $5,500.00 per month, and then there was Heidi's salary and other expenses. Steven struggled and Heidi became unhappy to see that the business took all the resources. The gallery closed, Heidi took her former job, and Steven found another gallery to show his paintings.

From the beginning, Heidi insisted that Steven draw inward with her into a very private world. She always suspected that he wanted to go off without her and resume his travels. Steven could not understand why Heidi insisted that he must cut off the loving thread that went from his life out into relations he had with the world at large. He remained by her side, anticipating an eventual fuller life together when they lived as one. Yet, eventually, the two felt unhappiness intruding into their love. It became apparent the marriage—meant to be a fortress of well being for the two to enjoy, had indeed become divided. Heidi built an emotional wall that was more distant than the miles between their homes and said, “I am more comfortable this way.” Steven said, but we can't live like this, you must be hot or cold or it is nothing at all. Heidi shrugged and said she could not change. The two separated on a trial basis—not sharing nights or fond times. Heidi felt more peace; but not Steven. He pleaded that the issues were not insurmountable because love is stronger than mountains. Changes were near, opportunities abounded, happiness just a heart beat away. Heidi admitted as much but said, “I am too weak, and it is unfair to you.” Then she said, "Maybe someday we will get back together, who knows?"

And this is what it has come to. She is keeping my artwork and I am planning to sell off all my possessions and follow spirit where ever it takes me. Probably Europe first. And Heidi, she is planning to sell her home and buy one where I always had hoped that we would live together—in Santa Fe. She will have my art to remind her of me.

The Jig

A few days ago, I received a phone call from one of my mother's caretakers who sounded urgent and exhorted me to think of going straightaway to her side at her home in Santa Barbara, California; although I live 900 miles away in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Immediately I became troubled and doubtful. My mother has had close brushes with death in the past. How could I be sure of the right time to be with her when she passed away? I asked the other caretaker as well, who concurred that my Mom had suddenly declined and might be on the way out. She suffered irregular heart beats, and her body was retaining fluids, although medication helped somewhat. She was on oxygen as well. I explained that I could not be going back and forth, but that I would come if the opinion was that I might not see her again.

 

I booked a one-way ticket, not knowing the course of future events. In one day, I arrived at my mother's side. She was sitting in her favorite chair at the dining table, next to a big picture window where she can watch the birds in her yard. Beautiful roses were in vases on the table, fresh from her garden. We hugged and she said, "Steven, I am so glad you came!" By the evening, we were playing gin rummy—and she beat me.

Sometimes, her sentences wander off into nonsense, but most of the time, her mind works normal.

My daughter Sarah was concerned enough that she has also arrived to pay last respects . . . but maybe my mother will be doing the jig next. She barely walks, but I don't put it past her to dance at her own funeral.