Sustaining Our Lives

Hey everyone- have not been on social media much. Long before current collective challenges the chronic illness I live with (M.E. Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) was flaring and I knew I needed to step back from everything. Then there was my mother's death, followed by the hacking of my facebook page (so grateful FB got rid of the hackers.) Life!

Now I am finding it hard to see the misinformation and fear-of-fear denial (that could hurt us all) on social media. Turns out yelling, "No! Just. . . NO!" or "Aw, come on!" at your computer screen does little or nothing for a struggling immune system. :-) So I am taking a break. I am fine- I spend a lot of time in social isolation and always have lots of supplies and food because I often don't know when I will be able to get out. And the city is much quieter than usual- which I love.

But, in the meantime, I came across this little story posted by my dear friend Linda Mulhall. It delighted me and reminded me how stories- lived or told or both- open our hearts and imaginations to truths that can sustain us. Hope this one delights you as much as it did me. Be safe. Be well. Take care of each other. - Oriah

At forty, Franz Kafka (1883-1924) who had no children, was walking through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully. Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.

The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter 'written' by the doll saying, "Please don't cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."

Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka's life. During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.

Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin. "It doesn't look like my doll at all," said the girl. Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "My travels have changed me." The little girl hugged the new doll and took her home, happy. A year later Kafka died.

Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter, signed by Kafka, it said, "Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."

Thanks to the Mentors Channel

My Mother's Death

My mother passed away on January 7, 2020. It's a complicated loss, but I have received so many messages of support and prayers, I feel held in love. This has helped me sit with the grief as it arises.

What I've realized is that my grief is rooted in the sadness of knowing I could not save my mother from her constant underlying anger and deep unhappiness. I've known this for a long time, but I've discovered that some forever-young part of my being had not quite given up- because children often don't give up. They keep trying and hoping. As a child I would have done anything to save her. And I tried endlessly.

And now. . . . now, I hope and pray she is free of the unhappiness and the rage. I hope she is deeply at peace. I do not want her to suffer. And I want the young part of me that danced as fast as she could in the hopes of making her mother smile- I want her to feel her mother is at last, free.. ~Oriah

This photo of a sun pillar at sunset by Karen Davis at Open Door Dreaming felt appropriate- a soul-light flaring before it disappears from view,