Into the Mystic....

It's been a long time since I've written about this and sometimes it occurs to me that I must seem rather heartless. Many people take much longer to heal than I do, for a variety of reasons. My spiritual beliefs have a lot to do with it. I don't hang on to things very much because I have a strong sense of how transitory most things are.

Most people know the backstory on this so it will make sense. For those who don't, go here.

My father and I certainly didn't have a warm and loving relationship. There is nothing I miss about him personally. There are no memories that I cling to for dear life because without them, there is nothing. We are like two people who passed through the same place at the same time.

That doesn't negate the fact though that I have certain obligations to him as a daughter which is also part of my spiritual belief system.

For the past several months, I've been nagged by some thoughts buried way in the back of my mind. I grew up believing that anyone who commits suicide is condemned for all eternity. Since I don't believe that intellectually, that did provide some buffer. You know, I wasn't flipping out about the issue. At the same time though, I really wanted to know. If that was true, so many things, so many beliefs, so much of everything would crumble for me. My belief in the inherent goodness in the world and my belief in a loving and forgiving deity.

Talk about an existential crisis!

I intellectualized with myself a lot, telling myself that belief was a lot of nonsense that I need to put out of my head.

It kept nagging me.

Really. Nagging.

I also had to deal with the possibility that it may not have been suicide. It might have been homicide.

I called the police department in the city where he died and the detectives were not very responsive. Polite, yes. Respectful, yes. Responsive, no.

I believe in the spirit world. I believe that when we die, we return to the spirit world. Additionally, I believe that a violent death of any kind can leave a spirit earthbound. They don't quite get that they're dead.

Shortly after my father's death, I awoke to distinct moaning. I knew who.. and why... said, "You're dead now. You need to go home" and promptly went back to sleep.

Earlier this week, I was in the Middle Place, that semi-conscious state between waking and sleeping when my father walked into my consciousness. He hugged me. (This is something that never occurred when he was alive.) He said something I can't quite recall... but very clearly said, "It's just that I found out that I was very, very sick." He said something else I don't recall, something about being okay and hugged me again. I wished him well in his next incarnation.

He was very thin. Boney. I came fully awake but could still feel the touch on my skin. I realized that he had come from the Other Side to let me know that he was not condemned and also that he did not die as a result of homicide.

Some of you reading will undoubtedly dismiss this as more eccentric weirdness from Eccentric Chani. I can assure you .. it was just as real as this monitor in front of my eyes or the keyboard beneath my fingers. It's as real as the sound of the radio in the background or my butt in the chair.

I'm a believer.

I feel very much at peace with all of this. I can now let go, knowing that he is at peace, that he is being healed and loved back to wholeness by a gentle and kind spirit world. We have finished the lesson, whatever it was, that brought us together in this lifetime.

We are both free.

~*

Letting go....

Sometimes it's really hard to tell when it is time to let go, when the moment has come that it is appropriate and right.

I woke up in the middle of the night and knew the time had come to let my father go. (For those who haven't been reading here very long, my father committed suicide in April.) It hit me not like a lightening bolt but with an internal peace.

For the past few months, there has been a lot of emotional housecleaning to do. Between talking to members of my family, long estranged, and dealing with the disparity between their beliefs and mine, it has been a challenge to gather us together for the final stages of this passage.

In short, it hasn't been possible. We all have to do this our own way.

In the middle of the night, I crawled around in the garden and clipped enough flowers to make a garland. I came back inside and sat by candlelight to make it. Finally, I put on a black tunic, a white blouse and a black ankle-length skirt. I wore two of my amulets, both which have relevance for this kind of thing. Barefoot, I went back out to the gazebo, placed a candle, some incense and his picture on a makeshift altar within the garland. I lit the incense and the candle.

I got down on the ground and bowed, holding one stick of incense in my hands, palms together. I chanted and prayed for his peaceful passage into the spirit world. I also thanked him for trying to do the best he could for us, even with his limitations. In the final analysis, we all do the best we can, even when our best doesn't always produce the best outcome. I expressed my gratitude for the lessons learned, expressly or by default. Karma can be a difficult thing and the lessons are not always easy. Our path this time was not.

I burned the picture.

I sat in the dark for a while, holding the ashes. I put them in a small container. I honored the container, brought it into the house and put it on a high shelf.

Without bothering to get undressed, I got back in bed and went back to sleep.

Another passage complete. Another karmic lesson. For both of us.


Peace,


~Chani