Prayers for the Dying

My brother was a Buddhist, with interests in other religions as well. I am pleased to have found some beautiful prayers for him. I also remembered a poem I wrote a very long time ago, around the time the singer Tim Buckley died. I include it just because it seems strange thing to recall it, after all these years....Tim's exquisite music and vision was a part of the youth Glenn and I shared as well.

When my time has come and
impermanence and death
have caught up with me,
when the breath ceases
and body and mind
go their separate ways
may I not experience delusion,
attachment and clinging,
but remain in the natural state
of ultimate reality.

Longchenpa Rabjampa

Now when the bardo of dying dawns upon me,
I will abandon grasping, yearning and attachment,
Enter undistracted into a clear awareness of the teaching,
And eject my consciousness into the space of unborn awareness;
As I leave this compound body of flesh and blood
I will know it to be a transitory illusion.

Tibetan BOOK OF THE DEAD
(Padmasambhava)

Form is empty, emptiness is form.
Likewise, sensation, discrimination,
conditioning, and awareness are empty.
In this way, Shariputra, all things are emptiness;
they are without defining characteristics;

they are not born, they do not cease

THE HEART SUTRA

I invite you to enter
into Sacred Time and Space,
into a way of seeing broad and spacious.
See this Day, from the time you arose this morning
until you sleep this evening, as one Ceremony,
divided into small and familiar rituals,

your Heart as the Altar.
You, part of the Cycles of Light and Darkness.
Now begin to see your Life,
from the moment of your Conception
until the time of your Death
as one long, continuous Ceremony,
filled with many rituals,
some familiar, some unknown and challenging.
Your Home and all Your Relations, the Altar.
You, part of many Seasons and Cycles.
Now see this Ceremony of your Life
as part of a much larger Ceremony that extends
Seven Generations into the Past and Seven into the Future,
made up of many Births and Deaths.
This beautiful spinning Earth the Altar.
You, part of the great Ebb and Flow.
Now, if You will, imagine this larger Ceremony
to be but one part of a Ceremony so grand,
so magnificent as to be hardly comprehensible,
a vast Ceremonial Circle, with
Circles of Dancing Light,
and You,

a Dancer on the Altar that is the Universe,
where Time is Eternal.

Sedonia Cahill

On the day I die, when I'm being carried
toward the grave, don't weep. Don't say,
He's gone! He's gone.

Death has nothing
to do with going away. The sun sets and the moon sets,

but they're not gone. Death is a coming together.
The tomb looks like a prison,but it's really release into union.
The human seed goes down in the ground
like a bucket into the well where Joseph is.

It grows and comes up full of some unimagined beauty.

Your mouth closes here and opens with a shout of joy there.

Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am sunlight on ripened grain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there. I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye

BIND the sick man to Heaven, for from Earth he is being torn away!
Of the brave man who was so strong, his strength has departed.
Of the righteous servant, the force does not return,
In his bodily frame he lies dangerously ill.
But Ishtar,
who in her dwelling is grieved
descends from her mountain unvisited of men.
To the door of the sick man she comes.
The sick man listens!
Who is there? Who comes?
It is Ishtar, daughter of the Moon!
Like pure silver may his garment be shining white!
Like brass may he be radiant!
To the Sun may he ascend!

(Assyrian prayer for the dying)

O nobly born
The time may soon come

for you to seek new levels of reality.
You may soon be face to face with the Clear Light.
You may soon experience it in its truth.
The state in which all things are like the void and the cloudless sky,
And the naked spotless intellect is like a transparent vacuum;
At this moment, know yourself and abide in that state.

Concentrate on the unity of all living beings.
Hold onto the Clear Light.
Use it to attain understanding and love.
Remember the unity of all living things.
Remember the bliss of the Clear Light.

O nobly born
Try to reach the experience of the Clear Light.
The Light. The Radiance. Join it.
It is part of you.

Your own consciousness, inseparable from the body of radiance

has no birth, nor death.
It is the immutable light.

O nobly born
The Radiant Energy of the Seed
From which come all living forms,
Shoots forth and strikes against you
With a light so brilliant you will scarcely be able to look at it.
Do not be frightened.
This is the Source
Ever manifesting in different forms.
Accept it. Merge with it.
Let it flow through you.
Fuse in the Halo of Rainbow Light

O nobly born
You are joining into the fluid unity of life.
Flow with it. Feel the pulse of the sun's heart.
Do not fear the ecstasy.
Do not resist the flow.
Let your heart burst in love for all life.

Do not try to hold to your old bodily fears.
Float in the Rainbow Sea.

COCOONS

(for Tim Buckley)

Once I watched pollen

take to the air, the fragrance

of lemon trees flowering in Ojai;

I admired patterns of water

running across rocks,

I made songs about the ocean's exaltation.

Now, both pollen and promise -

I am. I know

the life of lemon trees,

the water runs in me.

What I have most cherished

has fallen from my hands

Fortune, ambition, and chance

are songs I left behind me.

I have left the pain of slow decay

to become something

less than light

Lauren Raine (1975)

interim

Dream Weaver, 2009

It's kind of ironic that today I finally moved into my studio, and I'll have to vacate it at the end of the month. I took the studio back in November, and then my brother had his stroke, and I've had to spend much of my winter in Tucson. I rented it to a friend from New York, who lived in it for the past 4 months. Now it looks like I'll have to summer in Tucson, leaving for D.C. in August. I've not really had a chance to get to know this town, to feel a part of it, before it's time to leave again. Will I be back? I don't know. So I went into the studio today, and kind of wandered around, making tea and unsure of how to inhabit it. I finished one of my "hands" pieces..........I would like to make a series of such "tiles" someday.

The fact of the matter is that my winter has been spent going back and forth between Tucson, and I've accomplished little in my creative life except many questions about what I can, should, or want to do in the future. My brother suffered a massive stroke in November, and has been sustained by breathing machines and feeding machines in a vegetative state since then. I am suspended in a kind of "bardo" with him - I so often wished I could help him in his unhappy life, and was impotent to do so. Now I can't even help him to die, thanks to the obscenity of a technology that keeps people alive whose spirits have left. This is truly what I feel about my brother. He's not there.

My mother and other brother want me to live at home with them and become my mothers caretaker, a job I've on and off tried to fulfill for years now, a familial cord that has kept me for years in a situation I find depressing, lonely, and never somehow able to transcend. My creativity dries up in Tucson like water on the hot pavement, and it never seems to matter how many affirmations or churches or meetings I go to. Without my creativity, what am I? Living with people who do not have the means to value my creative life, I soon, even now and after all these years, doubt its worth myself. Self pity? I don't know.

At any rate, this has been the winter of waiting for my poor brother to die. There is no grace in this, only the awful impersonal gray halls of hospitals and nursing homes, and denial which seems to me to be endemic to our world. My mother and surviving brother, David, are unable to talk about the prospect of Glenn dying - it is as if it is something that "cannot be spoken" or it will break the spell of imagining that he is somehow going to get well. What a strange culture America is, that cannot speak about death until it suddenly is no longer possible to avoid the truth of it. Could I pull the plug, if I had the power? I do not know. I pray that he is not conscious, not able to perceive himself paralyzed within a body that will never be able to function again. I have been able to get Glenn into a hospice program, and have found a social worker and a minister to offer help and comfort to my mother when the time comes.

Me? I would be false if I didn't say I wish I could just stay in my studio for a while and see what emerges, or get in my car and drive east, watching the world green again, thinking of the emergence of life, instead of all this death. At this moment, I have neither spiritual insight, or artistic meaning and expression to draw from this that will somehow give the situation energy, transcendance, meaning. It's what it is, and sometimes, as the poet says (Robin Williamson) "A stone is just a stone."

I seem to have pulled my "Butterfly" book out - a fantastic coffee table book by photographer Thomas Marent. It's the truth of all of this, transformation and waiting rooms and passages. If I allow any anger in this, the awful stuck ignorance of my family, and a society that denies the passages of life..........causes so much more suffering than is necessary.

The butterfly, it seems to me, is the true symbol for all of this.

Arab Woman Talking (and dancing)

Photo by Baskar Banerji

In 2006 when I was in Berkeley preparing masks for the Spiral Dance, i met Lana Nassar, and enjoyed long talks with this inspiring sacred dancer, visionary, and truly compassionate artist in Cafe Trieste. We spoke about the Sacred Feminine as she manifests throughout the Middle East. Since that time Lana has taken her performance "Arab Woman Talking" to not only California, but to Boston and Virginia. Lana was born in Jordan, and has a home in both the U.S. and her native Middle East. Remembering her recently, I am pleased to include the following article she sent me in my book "The Masks of the Goddess". (It's also my intention soon to write about the meanings of sacred dance, which Lana embodies. For those interested, also read about Prema Dasara and the 21 Praises to Tara.)

For information about Lana's play "Arab Woman Talking", her dance performances, as well as tours she leads to the Middle East, visit her website: www.LanaNasser.com.


When we remember the sacred feminine, it remembers itself. The Goddess lives through us and is brought into the world through our creative expression.

From a young age, I knew that when I danced I connected with something much larger than myself. I did not know what it was and had no name for it. I was never officially trained as a dancer, I grew up in Jordan and simply watched my mother and followed suite. At sixteen, I came to the US and learnt new dances. I studied psychology and consciousness, and I danced. With time, dance became my spiritual practice; it opened me to new ways of expression and set me on my path.

For a long time, I had reservations about the term ‘belly dance’: it was a Western term used to describe a dance I simply knew as raqs; I felt objectified and exotic-ized by it. But I also had reservations about my womanhood and my power. I revisited the "belly" during my graduate research-through indirect means. I was writing my thesis on the jinn, fire spirits from Arabic lore, accredited for inspiring poets, but also blamed for possession. Spirit is said to dwell "in the belly". I learned that when blocked, creativity caused depression, but dance could release it. I learned about ritual dances of healing. “Dance du ventre” is ancient; the belly is the seat of passion and fear. The womb: the creative center.

I "delved into the belly" to discover the Goddess. I experienced her through my body - a most ecstatic feeling! I danced with her stories, from tales of Inanna and Isis, to Al-Lat, Ishtar, and Aphrodite. In the process I gained insight into myself as well as my relationships; and I began to dialogue with dreams - with my personal myths.

At that time I had a dream in which an old woman handed me a scarf. I was going to wrap it around my hips, but she stopped me, saying: "Tie it around your head." I realize this dream mirrored my waking questions about academia or art. I did not know which career to choose. I danced the dream to explore its meaning, and this led to my first solo piece. I continued to perform at schools, museums, and conferences for the study of Dreams. With time “Arab Woman Talking” was born, my one-woman show, a synthesis of both my research and artistic expression, providing me a platform on which to reconcile dual aspects of myself: mind and body, masculine and feminine. By performing I discovered my own story.

I began giving workshops, sharing my process of working with symbols from both myths and dreams. My methods developed though personal exploration, as well as from teachers who inspired me. They were women who embodied this sacred energy: artists and educators, drummers and dreamers, my own mother. I worked with women from diverse backgrounds, young and old. When we danced together, all barriers dissolved, and we spoke a common language. To witnessing the Goddess awaken always rewarded me.

As I continued to explore lore of the Goddess, I learned about the Shekinah-Sakina. Sakina literally means "indwelling". I had never heard of her before, although she was the feminine divine in both Judaism and Islam. To me, discovering the Sakina felt like coming home. I remember reading a quote by an Israili artist, Dorit Bat Shalom, who wrote that the Sakina hadDorit Bat Shalom, who wrote that the Sakina had been driven out of the holy land.....and that there could be no lasting peace without Her. I felt this to be true.
In a dream, I heard:

"Travel around the world and teach about the Goddess"

- and that dream inspired a vision of dancing barefoot - around the world - for peace. I imagined dancing with other women at special places, celebrating the Goddess, celebrating the earth.

That's where my concept for the “Journey to Jordan” emerged, and I scheduled my first trip this coming spring. I hope it will extend to other countries and sacred sites, connecting people, creating harmony, restoring balance.

Lana Nasser, 2007

Veils

Photo of Istalif area

Istalif, outside of Kabul, was famous for its blue glass artisans, and its beautiful blue pottery.  Maybe it still is. I don’t know – my memories are of bulky azure glasses, and thick strands of cerulean beads that jingled on the camel harnesses, and occasionally the wrists, of nomadic Kootchi women passing through Kabul, where I lived as a teenager, in caravans.  My father worked for U.S. A.I.D., and I attended an international school in Kabul.

In the late spring, waters rushed down in cold, lively streams from fierce mountains still snow-clad, and many westerners went to Istalif to sight-see. An exclusive restaurant catering to foreigners afforded a good view with coffee and croissants.  

Debbie Simon (my best friend) and I were, like all 16 year olds, eager to get away from the boring conversations of our elders. Dressed in our French coats, our high black boots and mod turtlenecks, with adolescent stealth we escaped the tabled terraces for a while, to walk below on grey granite boulders that overlooked a stream of cold spring water.We were young, fashionable, and elated with the prospect of leaving Afghanistan.  Debbie was headed home to New York, and I was going to "swinging London".

Debbie’s father worked for the Embassy, mine was with AID, both had completed their assignments, and we were going back to the states at last.To the Rolling Stones and boys and beaches and college. As we talked excitedly, not so far away was a familiar sight – a group of local women doing laundry by the stream. Seeing us approach, they had dropped their chadoris over their faces, and now resembled a collection of multi-colored tents huddled among the grey rocks.

I didn’t notice when one “tent” disengaged from the rest and quietly approached us.But we grew silent as she stood, silently, before us, her face hidden under layers of pleated cloth, an opaque net before her eyes.Hands emerged from the chador to lift it above her face, and before us stood a girl of 16 or 17.  Black eyes lined in kohl shone with humor.She smiled shyly at each of us as she lifted her veil, dropped it before her face again, turned and walked back to the group of veiled women as Debbie and I stood silently on our rock by the stream.

I don't know why she approached us. Perhaps she just wanted to let us know that she also was young and pretty, reminding us of our common youth, and yet living in worlds so far apart. I never forgot that moment - it was a gift.  I also never have forgotten the enormous privilege my life has been.

archetypes

A month or so ago, my therapist, Jeaneen, asked me what archetype I thought my mother was. I couldn't answer, any more than I could have said which archetypes informed who or what my own life stories have been. So I put the question off for "later examination".

Yesterday I was looking at a photo I had placed on my altar, next to the photo of my brother. And I realized suddenly (actually, while at the riverbend hotsprings, which is a good place to get great ideas while inconveniently wet).........that a syncronicity had supplied the answer to my "for later examination" question. Sometimes, things work that way, once you begin to notice. Reviewing much of the stories in this blog, I see that I'm always recording and wondering at such phenomenon. The mythic dimension leaking through..........

The photo was taken in 2004 at the opening to an exhibit of my masks (which I shared with artist Catherine Nash MFA). Valerie James, an artist who lives in Amado, took the photo randomly. I kept it around because it's the most recent photo I have of my mom and me together...the last photo I have of her when she was fully here, fully cognizant, to be exact. And now Jeaneen's question is also within the frame of this photo, as well, perhaps, within the frame of having placed it upon an altar and thus imbuing it with sacred attention ..... at any rate, a serendipitous truth emerges that answers the question about archetypes.

My mother has the "Corn Mother" mask above her. That archetype of unconditional, self-sacrificing, idealized motherly love, devoted to the nurturance of her children without any limitations - is the very truth of what my mother has devoted herself to, both consciously and unconsciously, with its bright and "shadow" sides. She has lived the story of Selu. And for me, the picture could not be more appropriate. Above me, Spider Woman, the weaver, higher Self, the artist and divine co-creator, dedication to a vision of ecology, my most tangible mythos of deity. And beside me, Butterfly Woman, my personal "life story" archetype. "La Mariposa" is a story I wrote more than 15 years ago. And here in this photo........is one more living metaphor, one more poem about our journey together.

The Goddess and the "Book of Eli" once more......

I can't resist showing some of the art from "The Return of the Mother"show which went up in Carrizozo, New Mexico this month. These photos were forwarded by my friend Georgia Stacy, who is one of the shows organizers. The entire set from "The Book of Eli" has been torn down, the gallery restored, and it looks as if the world that Hollywood created in this little town never was. I still can't get over the syncronicity and hopeful paradox of having a dark, patriarchal, post-apocalyptic vision arise, and then dissipate like a dream, replaced with beautiful affirmations of the "return of the Goddess"........ Just for contrast, I copied the earlier post below as well.

THE GODDESS AND THE BOOK OF ELI

The Goddess and the Book of Eli (1) (photo by Georgia Stacy)

Corrisozo, N.M., set of "The Book of Eli", filming 3-2009. (Photo by Georgia Stacy)

I had a wonderful 4 day adventure into the "outback" of New Mexico, visiting a group of women artists who will be putting on a group show in Carrizozo, New Mexico called "The Return of the Mother". It will be opening on April 11th at Gallery 408 in Carrizozo. It was such a pleasure to meet these amazing women, among them sculptor Georgia Stacy, and fabric artist Karen Smith, who is creating a Sanctuary for the Divine Feminine called Kindred Spirits Sanctuary in the mountains of her beautiful home (she also has a labyrinth!).

"The Black Madonna and the Book of Eli" (composite photo with G. Stacy)

Inanna Champagne had been invited to speak to groups in the area about her work, and I was also invited to bring along my dvd about the Masks of the Goddess project. As we sat having coffee in prior to departure, Inanna and I both noticed that (this is the honest to goodness truth!) a tiny spider had slowly come down on its thread to hang eye level between us. We observed it move up a bit, and then down a bit, and then up a bit......back and forth for over an hour. At last, when we were ready to leave, I took it by the thread and placed the latest envoy of Spider Woman on my altar. We felt well aspected and blessed on our journey, and indeed, so we were! I may talk about a "webbed vision" in the abstract, but when these kinds of little syncronicities happen, well........the mystery of the divine has a great sense of humor. And our lives are always full of everyday Milagros.

Arriving at Carrizozo, which is a small town in central New Mexico, one drives through vast reaches of blond Georgia O'Keefe landscapes with brooding blue mountains in the distance. We saw that we were in time for the town's major attraction - the filming of a motion picture starring Gary Oldman and Denzel Washington. An entire downtown street (where the Gallery my friends' show will be) had been converted into a post-apocalyptic, "Road Warrior" type set, complete with rusting automobiles, foam core burned out buildings, and sad little "cubby holes" where, presumably, desperate children of the apocalypse lived. Dirty, dread-locked young people (extras) milled about, while armored cars raced up and down the street, and the sounds of "snipers" guns echoed in the crisp, windy New Mexico air.

 

Joyce, a local visionary, was our tour guide. She had been there since the beginning of the town's transformation, watching the sets being built over facades of the existing buildings. They took 2 months to create, and next week it will all come down, revealing again the gallery where "The Return of the Mother" will be in April, after the foam core and plaster is peeled away. There is a splendid metaphor in here! It was weird to see this contemporary nightmare made so vivid that I could actually walk around in it. Life and art are sometimes seamless.

  To read about the movie see THE BOOK OF ELI . I don't think they have a trailer yet......... Try also this link: Book of Eli, which describes the movie as:

 "A post-apocalyptic Western, in which a lone man fights his way across America in order to protect a sacred book that holds the secrets to saving humankind."

It's interesting that there are two post apocalyptic movies scheduled for release ( the other is The Road, with Viggo Mortenson) within the next year. Like the "Road Warrior" of the '80's, our world has a fascination with images of a future in which all that remains of our civilization is a grim landscape of warlords shooting it out with each other, grimly pre-occupied with power, guns, and unceasing violence. That's the mythos of a dominator, hierarchy culture. Yet in reality, many people right here in New Mexico live in a world of enormous cooperation and generosity. That is also a part of the human spirit, the future's challenge and potential. I know many, many communities all over this country who participate in a "webbed" life-serving consciousness, envisioning sustainable futures.

 Cooperation, negotiation, and a collective means is actually the basis of any civilization. We are capable of enormous violence, yes. Perhaps, the ultimate violence. But we are also capable of enormous, vast, cooperation. As we approach 2012, we approach the next evolutionary step for humanity, wherein we must understand and participate in the larger life of our planet, of Gaia the Mother, or we will face the possibility of extinction. I am saddened to think so many are conditioned by the media to think that a violent world is our only possibility. How poorly what Gloria Steinam has called the "Cult of Masculinity" prepares us for the real challenges of the future. Because our survival can only be achieved through cooperation.

 But I doubt we'll see a movie about the "end of days" wherein heroic people get together to vision quest where the best place is to settle might be, or gather to share their food supplies, or figure out a way to dig a new community well, or for that matter, hold healing rituals and prayer circles. And yet, that is what people do together, all over the place. So, I am pleased (and amused) by the synchronicity of a show called The Return of the Great Mother rising from the ashes of the movie set, a bright alternative to the current paradigm's dark vision.

 Georgia saw a Goddess shape in one of her photos of the Book of Eli set, and I couldn't help but play with the images myself a bit. Artists are myth makers.  We're weaving the future with the stories we tell. So what are they?

Links to Myth and Culture

This is the terrace at the old restaurant, beautiful and delapidated, at the lodge at Elephant Butte Dam. I love to hang out there. When I paint again, I want to paint some of these amazing "portals". In the winter you can sit on these terraces, and view the whole vast expanse of the lake, and not hear a human voice, only the cries of raptors and water birds circling miles away.

Today I got "buzzed" by a peregrine falcon that circled me and then later, by an amazing and rare yellow butterfly. I will consider this a good sign to seek, get the big picture, and keep being willing to change.

And the Butte sits with intense prescence, sentinal of the lake. New Mexico is a mysterious place, another country, with a very different time sense. The solace of open spaces.

I wanted to put on my blog some of the MYTH RESOURCES I am aware of, to refresh my memory as much as to share with any who may be interested. I am a long time disciple of Joseph Campbell, whose "Hero With A Thousand Faces" and his 1987 interviews with Bill Moyers (The Power of Myth) set me on my own vision quest.

* Mythic Passages
* Mything Links
* Cultural Mythology: American Notions of Self & Country
* Imaginal Institute- Ideas Like Rabbits
* Mythic Rhythm
* MythNow Blog- Joseph Campbell Foundation
* Mythopoetics in Culture
* The Endicott Studio for Mythic Arts
* Pacifica Graduate School
* The Journal of Mythic Arts
* The World Cafe
* Parabola Magazine
* Institute for Cultural Change

I'll get the links to these on the blog soon - but here they are for the Googling. And a few I've missed of course.