Feb 06, 2022

  Living in Unconditional Love (48)

“Love flows from God to humans without effort:

As a bird glides through the air without moving its wings-

Thus, they go wherever they wish united in body and soul,

Yet separate in form.”

–Mechtild of Magdeburg

My wife Eileen died from esophageal cancer in February 2020 one year after being diagnosed, 60 years to the day that we met on Long Island. Then my brother Tom became ill, and I spent a total of six weeks being with him in Ohio, but he died in October 2020. My sister-in-law Sue Mahoney died from Covid-19 in January 2021. On top of it all stood the pandemic, locking everyone down almost two years, and still going strong from my viewpoint, as I wear my mask anytime I am out, unlike many.

02/06/2022                         Another cold week, being 13 at 5 PM, on Saturday as I write. We had ice and snow Thursday and Friday, and I was plowed out this morning (Saturday). Not a lot, but the freezing rain created a crust that was hard to get through.  I haven’t tried to shovel off my front porch; I will see tomorrow as it is supposed to be a bit warmer, in the 20s.

A quiet week, and I found a neat function on my iPhone: I can set it so it will not ring if the number is not in my contacts but go straight to message. The other day I had 10 straight unknown calls, 7 different numbers, and only one left a message, and that was a scam. Nice feature. Keeps it quiet and I am not bothered with unwanted calls. Being an author puts one at the point attack for many scam artists that claim they could do wonderful things to sell more copies, for (of course) $$$$.

The house is almost back to ‘normal’, whatever that is. Still some Christmas stuff up and not all moved back into storage closet under the stairs, and I have to move things to decorate like I do for most of the year. But it is getting there. I plan to have it back to ‘normal’ before I leave for Peru.

I have followed a marvelous writer for several years by the name of Maria Popova in her weekly column The Marginalian. Her column appears on Sunday, with an old column Wednesday. She is a prodigious reader, this week commenting on James Baldwin on how long-distance love illuminates on all Love. I will quote her opening paragraph to illustrate her deep insights:

The longer I live, the more deeply I learn that love – whether we call it friendship or family or romance – is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light. Gentle work. Steadfast work. Life-saving work in those moments when life and shame and sorrow occlude our own light from view, but there is still a clear-eyed loving person to beam it back. In our best moments, we are that person for another.

She goes on to talk about James Baldwin (August 2,1924 – December 1, 1987) from his book Nothing Personal (public library) (she always tells us where she found it) – his 1964 collaboration with the photographer Richard Avedon, his high school classmate and life-long friend, which contains some of Baldwin’s least-known but most intimate writings. Wonderful reading and usually amazingly deep insights, tying in other authors insights, she quotes the following breathtaking lines from Baldwin:

One discovers the light in darkness, that is what darkness is for; but everything in our lives depends on how we bear the light. It is necessary while in darkness, to know that there is light somewhere, to know that in oneself, waiting to be found, there is light.

I have found that quote from Baldwin to be deeply personal from my experience over the past few years especially noted. Popova goes on to write:

This light, Baldwin intimates, is most often and readily found in love – that great and choiceless gift of chance.

Love becomes a lens on the world, on space and on time – a pinhole through which a new light enters to project onto the cave wall of our consciousness landscapes of intimate importance from territories of being we would have never otherwise known.

Wise words. Her columns always move me to another level. I know full well that it has been the love of family and friends that have, first sustained both Eileen and me during that year of her illness, then aiding me in holding life together these past two years after her death

Meditation

Gentle One, I find myself weak and tired at this time of year as the date of Eileen’s death comes closer. I know that You have given me the opportunity to spend that time in the joy of family and birthday-time, but I still find myself wincing as that time approaches. This time shortly before her death is etched deeply in my mind, and it crowds out the joys that are mine for the taking right now. It is only my constant turning for Your love that eases the memories to become part of life, and for this I am extremely grateful.