Good Friday - To Be Ever More Mindful

Little sweetheart, one of the most resonant readings in the Good Friday service I watched this afternoon from Grace Church was an excerpt from something called “God’s Daring Plan” - from a book called “Bread of Angels” by Barbara Brown Taylor. The passage was incredibly original and intensely moving and I went looking for more information about its author soon after.

The author was an Episcopal priest and her stories began as a collection of some of her absolutely breathtaking sermons. “Bread of Angels” weaves its way through the stories of the Bible with insightful scholarship, humor and directness, using language both conversationally and brilliantly.

The excerpt read last night from a chapter highly regarded as the very center of the book itself is called, as I said above, little sweetheart, “God’s Daring Plan”. The full passage takes one from creation and Eden all the way up to there Incarnation. It’s absolutely wonderful. I didn’t get to read it in full until just now. Last night there was just this short bit, that even reading aloud now, makes me start to cry. It reads thus:

“He had made them, it was true, and he knew how fragile they were, but their very breakability made them more touching to him, somehow. It was not long before God found himself falling in love with them. He liked being with them better than any of the other creatures he had made, and he especially liked walking with them in the garden in the cool of the evening. It almost broke God’s heart when they got together behind his back, did the one thing he had asked them not to do and then hid from him – from him! – while he searched the garden until way past dark, calling their names over and over again. Things were different after that. God still loved the human creatures best of all, but the attraction was not mutual. Birds were crazy about God, especially ruby-throated hummingbirds. Dolphins and raccoons could not get enough of him, but human beings had other things on their minds. They were busy learning how to make things, grow things, buy things, sell things, and the more they learned to do for themselves, the less they depended on God. Night after night he threw pebbles at their windows, inviting them to go for a walk with him, but they said they were sorry, they were busy.”

There’s something in regret, little sweetheart, in remembering all my mistakes, that makes me long ever more for you and just always to do better. And I think there’s something in this passage too about thinking we have time - the Buddha’s famous caution. May I listen quietly and remember and hear you as you guide me through my days. How very much I love you. How very grateful I am. With all my love forever.
 

In Your Arms

Little sweetheart, on this sad day, my thoughts are, as ever, of you. How terribly I miss you. How grateful I am that you found me and brought such light and love into my life. How I long to be with you again when God finally calls me home to your side. 

Last night, something very unusual happened. The westside was cloaked in fog, as if we were back in the Inner Sunset of San Francisco as we were in those best days and nights and years of my life - simply with you. 

Fog in NYC is quite rare and I couldn't help but think, indeed, know, that you were putting your arms around me, letting me know you’re so much closer than I can even imagine. 

My every thought is of you. On this day and every day. And I love you. Forever. Forever.

 

Under The Blankets Dream

Little sweetheart, I so often dream of you. Of course. And I’m so blessed when you come to me in dreams. 

Sometimes, the dreams are bittersweet. The best are when we are simply together and everything is okay, as it was before and even better. Other times, things are more complicated and worrisome. 

Last night I had a dream that was a bit of both. It began in that bittersweet vein - you were on earth, had been laying low away from all the drama, but healthy and fine. It was an enormous relief to know of it but somehow I thought that you didn’t want me anymore. I was so heartbroken I just lay down asking God to take me home. There was nothing more for me. 

But then I heard you in another room. I got up and followed the sound of your voice, heard your laughter, too. It seemed to be coming from under the covers of a big bed. Two figures seemed to be there. I think you were with your friend Danya. You both were giggling and then you spoke in a strange, an unusual and somewhat comic accent. Then in your normal voice you called to me telling me to hurry and come to you. 

You were recording a performance of some kind and my parts to read were next. You lifted the covers to show me. There were pages of a script and a tape recorder and you were smiling beautifully, inviting me to join you. And when I did, you kissed me so very deeply I could still remember the sensation when I woke. 

Everything was okay. Everything was okay again.

All Soul's Day 2020

Little sweetheart, today is All Soul's Day.

Over the years, I've liked to observe it by going to a service. In the early days, I used to go to St Thomas, which is kind of High Episcopalian - incense and ceremony - something one more takes in than actively participates. 

For the last long while I've gone to West End, which usually observes it not specifically on the day but either the Sunday before or, very nicely, with a Taize service on the Wednesday just before, just following or, if Nov 2 falls on a Wednesday, the day itself. 

This year because of the pandemic, most churches are closed, sadly. Even the beautiful little Spanish church nearby on W51  Sacred Heart - is closed. But I'm saying quiet prayers for you, regardless. Remembering with gratitude your gift of love and light that saved me. And knowing with faith that we will be together again soon and forever. 

With all my love.

End of August

 Little sweetheart, tonight is the last night of August and I can feel the seasons changing. It’s cooler and the air feels fresh while still the sounds of locusts fill the air and the lushness of the season remains.

Tonight I walked out along the Hudson and just gazed over the beautiful landscape and skyscape.

I remembered how I often used to walk out here in the years before we met and wonder if things would ever get better, I was so very very sad. They did. You found me.

Now, in these days when things are so very wrong, even in the depths of anxiety and despair, I know that it will get better because you are closer than I can imagine. And I will be with you soon.

I love you so very much. Please be near me, I love you forever.

Ash Wednesday 2020

It’s Ash Wednesday, little sweetheart. For a couple of reasons, it seems important that I observe it. I didn’t really, until a few years ago.

Ash Wednesday is the beginning of Lent which itself is the season of worship just prior to Holy Week concluding with Easter Sunday. The most striking thing in my own life about Ash Wednesday, of course, is that it came the morning after your accident that year.

After spending the whole night awake in the halls of the hospital waiting to see you, the shift changed in the morning and people began coming to work, many of them wearing the black ash mark of the cross on their foreheads. Eerie, surreal and unforgettable, it has stayed with me ever since that terrible terrible day.

It wasn’t until a year or two later when I discovered the little church on West End Avenue that I first attended an Ash Wednesday service (outside of happening into one in London when I visited St Paul’s). It was the first one I’d ever participated in, actually hearing the blessing and receiving the ashes myself. I’ve continued every year since.

Tonight there’s a service at West End but I’m gong instead to the one here at Sacred Heart, which is a bit closer and directly across the street from the rectory where I take cookies and things to Sister Catherine and the nuns. My prayers, as ever, are for you.

May God keep you safe in the Beautiful New Place and help me to hew the path of goodness and kindness and come to you when it is my time. With all my love forever.

As In Baking, As in Life...

I was making a second batch of Christmas cookies last night, little sweetheart. I wanted to do some work but it was so noisy on the street outside, I decided to bake instead.

I had on my playlist of Christmas favorites - you’ve heard a few of them - which included two 30 minute radio documentaries I recorded off the air when the BBC broadcast them years ago. One about the annual Advent service “Darkness to Light” at Salisbury Cathedral and the other interviewing former boy choristers and people involved with the famous 9 Lessons and Carols service at Cambridge.

Between the two of them is a song I heard a few years ago released by the Sheffield band, The Crookes - “You Bring the Snow”. It’s an incredibly bittersweet song longing for “just one more Christmas like when we were young”.

The first time I heard it, and I think probably every time after, it has made me ache for you… and it did tonight. Oven mitt in hand, cutting the little stars and angels and bells, the smell of ginger and molasses and longing for you, my heart so heavy, I just cried and cried and cried. Weeping, aching for you. And all the while shuffling along between the counter and the oven going on with my task.

Very much like how I keep going through my life. Heartbroken to be separated from you but with faith that you are safely in God’s care, that I will be with you again, soon and forever, and that I simply must carry on doing all the things I’m meant and you very much want me to complete.

Yes, little sweetheart, I will remember and honor and call to you always. Always. With all my heart, with all my love. Forever.

August Ache

It’s the last day of August, little sweetheart. And somehow it feels terribly sad.

There’s maybe something about the season you are named for and feeling, fearing its passing. There’s a kind of ache to it, somehow. I know I just have to live, to breathe in these moments and let them pass, feeling whatever comes up. There’s no fighting it.

And maybe somehow it will help inform the next moment and the next as I do my best to do as you would have me do.

I used to feel something else, I remember, in these days as autumn neared. It was a kind of renewed resolve to do good work and diligently as the last four months of the year lay ahead. Let me do that, now, little sweetheart. Let me continue with fervor and discipline and make you proud in these days ahead.

Please be near me, won’t you? Keep me on your true path. With all my love forever.

Before I Go...

Waking up this morning, little sweetheart, I say our prayer as I lay in bed, before rising and lighting your candle.

Then making coffee, I look around at the things I've laid out and the lists I've made of things to pack and things to remember before I leave. Ever anxious, I try to slow down, quiet myself and listen for your celestial, healing, eternal, guiding presence.

Please be with me today, little sweetheart. Let me know that you are near. And take me to you the moment Heaven will allow.

With all my love forever...

Last of the Year

Tonight was the first night in about a month, little sweetheart, that I was able to get up to that little church I've told you about, where they have the nice Wednesday night candlelight meditation service. I always insist on walking there and back and that's a good hour or two plus the service itself, so sometimes, when things are busy, I just can't quite make it happen.

I'm so glad when I do, though. It's good that there's air around it. It's good that it makes me leave things behind for a few hours. It helps me quiet myself and when I do, I can hear and find you better. And that's what I need more than anything. It's so good to sit quietly mindful, sing the chants, light a candle and say quiet prayers, our prayer, and speak to you. I'm always so much better when I know you're near.

Please help me, little sweetheart, to know that you are and to do as you instruct. With all my love forever. Forever.

All Souls

Good morning, little sweetheart. It's November 2nd - All Souls Day. I'm up a little early on this Friday morning. It's grey and overcast and I have an earlier than usual physical therapy appointment. But, like every morning, as I woke I said our prayers and lit your candle and then came in here to write a few words to you. Please know that I love you forever with all my heart and soul. Please be near me today. My thoughts are always of and with you, my little sweetheart, my gorgeous girl. I'll look for you in quiet moments today. I will listen. With all my love...

At The Shrine

On our last day in Ireland, little sweetheart, we drove back down the coast to Cork. En route we stopped at this beautiful little place, it's actually a National Park and Landmark - Gougane Barra.

The source of river Lee begins there and there is a forest in its surroundings. St Finbar was said to have set up a monastery there in the 6th century. And there are wonderful caves and a beautiful church there, as well.

I remembering setting off that day and Kris mentioning the stop but you didn't quite know what it was. You were slightly annoyed, you told me later, because you thought he was just going to a bank or something!

I don't know how that got mis-communicated but the moment you saw the place, you were enchanted. There is also a beautiful little hotel there and you very much wanted to return - just you and I. It's also a popular wedding spot and I very much wished that one day it would be our own, my little sweetheart, my love.

Inside the shrine, I'm not too sure they're keen on people taking pictures, but I had just lit a candle for you and as you stood there, I couldn't resist.

It's a very resonant and treasured image for me now. My treasure at the shrine. On our last day in Ireland.

That we know of yet... because time is not what we think it is, is it, little sweetheart? And when I finally join you I'll know that, won't I? We can go anywhere and be there and other places too together and forever.

Thank you, my little sweetheart. Please be close to me today. I need you always.

You Are Everything

All the way out at the end of the Sheep's Head and a bit exhausted at the end of a long day of exploring, little sweetheart, we rested for a minute and made plans to go to The Snug in Bantry for dinner.

As we sat there at a little picnic table, the sun began to set. And I stepped away to take this rather breathtaking picture of you with the sky and sea and landscape beyond but somehow also a part of you.

I understand that so much better now, my little sweetheart. You are a part of everything and all around, me always. You are more a part of everything, indeed - you are everything. Love you forever.

In Ireland

Little sweetheart, it was this week, eight years ago, that we went on our trip to Ireland together.

Although I hadn't been there since 2001, it was one of the first things you and I talked about when we met - my travels there and how very much you wanted to go with me sometime.

After my mom unexpectedly passed away in May of that same year, I knew even more than I had before that I needed to be with you as much as possible and that even though you were already so good at seizing the moment and doing things NOW, not waiting for some mythical "someday", that we needed to plan a trip there.

You were going to be in France in late September and I had to go to London around the same time, so we settled on October. We traveled with my friends Kris & Joy, who had been with me on my previous visits to the emerald isle, and we rented a little cottage in Kilcrohane, a small village at the end of the Sheep's Head Peninsula, a place we'd come to love all those years ago.

You and I went for long walks, one epic one all the way out to and around the lighthouse and another past Doneen pier when a little Jack Russell dog suddenly appeared and ran a few feet ahead of us, seemingly taking us on a tour, for nearly an hour.

I'm so grateful that I have so many wonderful pictures of you on that trip, almost 300, I think. Maybe I'll post a few of them here over the next few days, little sweetheart, and tell a little story.

I'm so very glad we had that trip together, just as you so wanted. It's hard not to feel the sadness begin to rise in my chest at the thought of how much you loved it and had spoken of new plans to return - there was a lovely old man there, Johnny, who had taken such a shine to you, and we had planned to return in the spring when it happened to be his birthday. So many of the village folks that got to meet you were taken with you and your mane of red hair ("where are all the redheads?", you asked one of the locals in the pub, I recall, and he said "they're all in Scotland, lass.").

This picture is one from that day when the little dog led us around the twists and turns of the path down to Doneen pier. May you lead me even now through my own arduous travels and bring me safely home again to your side in the Forever. With all my love...

To Hear The Angels Sing

Little sweetheart, I'm working on getting better, healing after the accident. I'm going to physical therapy three days a week and doing all my exercises at home on the off days.

It's still pretty hard and there are lots of things I can't do but I am trying as best I can to work on the new album. It's called Til Morning Is Nigh: A Dream Of Christmas and it has both spoken word (in English and French) underscored by ambient guitars and Christmas songs re-arranged and performed in our signature dreampop style.

You'll be on it, of course, and one song I was working on this week especially made me think of you and exactly where we should hear your voice swell and soar. It's during the repeated phrase "to hear the angels sing".

We're mostly still in the basic tracks phase of recording, laying down the initial guitar with a reference or guide vocal, but just singing that phrase as I played made my eyes well with tears and I could feel them coursing down my cheeks as I continued.

I was watching something last night before bed, little sweetheart, I can't remember what, and there was a scene where someone began to cry remembering a beloved and the person they were with said that it was a blessing because that keeps our angels close to us, it lets us know that they, that you, are near.

I love you with all my heat and soul, my gorgeous girl. Please don't go too far away. I'll quiet myself to listen for your celestial voice, your every whispered word. With all my love forever...

First and Last (for now)

Little sweetheart, I was finally able to get back to that nice candlelight meditation service I've told you about. It's on Wednesday nights and I was going to go on my birthday but, of course, I was in the hospital. That was two months ago.

It had been ages and because they take July - September off, this was going to be the last one until the first week in October. I'm glad I went! It's about as far as I've walked since the accident - about 60 blocks round trip. It was really good to see some of the folks there, they're very nice, and to say quiet prayers and sing the chant-like devotional songs and to come forward to light a candle for you and to sit in the silence and the near dark during the centerpiece meditation of the service. Some sweet little birds were singing outside and if I hadn't already, I was quite certain then that you were near.

Part of the service includes readings, both secular and sacred. There's often a poem. They asked me to read Wednesday night's. It was called "Popovers" - again bringing you leaping to mind, as your special Summer Popovers recipe is right on the front of our fridge at home. It's a beautiful poem about love and dear ones and struggles and our desire to hold on to the precious things and... food! It's by Pam McAllister and is here:

What luxury, on this visit,
to hear rain falling in the woods,
then awaken to popovers,
like so many golden suns, spilling over
a birch-wood basket.
Our talk, too, spilling over and golden,
rises from a night of dreams and a universe
of books and memories, new ideas and old connections.
Here! we say, offering up a page of promise.
Listen! the morning air is filled with our reflections
as colorful and textured as the plate we pass
laden with melon wedges and strawberries
and unbelievable raspberries. We pose for pictures,
yearning to hold on to this moment, this abundance.
Outside, the air shimmers
and the only thing we know for sure
is that there are trials ahead for each of us
and for our world, our delicate, precious planet.
But at this table we have held each other’s hands,
offered thanks for all of creation,
and eaten our golden popovers
with butter and jam.

At the end, they welcomed me back and a few people came up to say hi. More than one, knowing that I had briefly left this life, said they were certain it was you, little sweetheart, who wanted me to finish just a few more things here before I join you.

I pray with all my heart to do as you would have me, to make you proud and, when the time is the time, to fly to your side again and forever. I'm filled with gratitude and love tonight, little sweetheart. Thank you. With all my love forever. 

Be True

Little sweetheart, I'm focusing on doing my best to get healthy and get back to our work and I think I really haven't quite yet taken in all that's happened, all that's happened to me, in these last weeks. Maybe it's too much to process just yet and maybe, as sometimes is the case in these situations, it's far more palpable to those closest to us than it is to ourselves, because they witnessed it and even though it happened to us, we were unconscious for all or parts of the events and may only have scattered memory of it all.

I suppose the enormity of it will eventually trigger my emotions and maybe I should be bracing myself for that. I'm only now really hearing about the second event, only now understanding that I left this life for over ten minutes when my heart stopped. What I do remember is that my mind was working, that I was still trying to communicate almost telepathically with those around me, earthbound, and that in those moments I felt as if they were understanding and responding.

One of the things that most bothered me after I was conscious was that I didn't simply soar to your side, but soon, and even now, I think that it wasn't quite time for that yet, that you yourself may well have had a hand in shepherding me back, keeping me in my earthly orbit for a bit longer, knowing better than I do myself that there are things I'm meant to complete here first.

I pray, little sweetheart, to know them and to dedicate myself ever more fervently to honor you and live up to the shining example of your loving kindness and character. In a word, (or two) to Be True.

And in the phrase that you shared with me and that, even after your tragic passing, your mom invoked and reminded me - because you and the great gift of your love are eternal and ever always present - don't waste the miracle.

I must be mindful, more than ever. I love you with all my heart and soul. In another of your oft repeated vows to me - Always.

With love forever.

Continued...

Little sweetheart, these last eight weeks have been hard. It's exactly eight weeks ago today that, a day before my birthday, I was hit by a car. There have been so many struggles and challenges in the days and weeks since then and I guess you could even say that for not a little while I was almost if not actually dead, because my heart stopped for 10 minutes.

But I'm still here, struggling a bit but grateful, especially to be home with the love of your wonderful parents - and the earthly angel, Sylvia, who very much saved my life along with your dad who was on the phone with her when I collapsed - grateful to be home with your pictures and things around me, grateful for you and your mom and dad and dear Sylvia.

And I want, as best I can, to resume these writings and our music and all our projects dedicated to love and your memory and example, as well as new blessings that I know you have visited upon me, upon us, with celestial guidance.

I may begin with a few things that I had already written down and meant to say and post just before the events and I'll continue as best I can while keeping up my recovery.

I love you with all my heart and soul. 

Celestial Intervention

Little sweetheart, I've gone quiet on the blog here because I was in hospital for the last few weeks after an accident I won't get into. Suffice to say that I know you were looking out for me and protecting me from events that could have proved fatal.

You have always filled me with gratitude and a sense of purpose. I remain connected to you spiritually and with all my heart and soul and simultaneously understand that I am to live gratefully to the fullest, with love for others and work to do.

These set backs of injuries only strengthen my resolve to live fully, joyfully, honoring your great spirit, the great gift of our shared love and the important work of honoring and remembering you. I know more than ever you are at my side, keeping me strong and focused. I love and heed your every whispered word.

We go on. With all my love...  

Words and Thoughts and Guidance

Little sweetheart, tonight is Holy Thursday or Maundy Thursday. It's the night of the Last Supper and the contemplation of Gethsemane.

I went to services again tonight and so much of what was said and transpired made me think of you and long for you and want to speak to you quietly, a bit like I'm doing now, I suppose, by writing this.

Sometimes when things are especially resonant, I'll circle them in the bulletin where they are printed and appear or if it's something that's spoken, I'll write it down in my own hand there.

Tonight, early in the service, during the Prayer of Confession, there was a passage that struck and stung me. It was talking about the Disciples but I took it deeper into my own heart. It read: that they "loved and followed you but they had also failed you."

Sometimes, when I think of things, moments where we argued or I was upset or mad, I am so overcome with remorse, little sweetheart. We only had so little time together and it absolutely crushes me to think I ever spent any of it quarreling or moody. It brings me to bitter tears to think of any moment in which I may have hurt your feelings. I know it's human - I know we both hurt each other's feelings from time to time and that we both are terribly emotional - that's a wonderful thing to share because we didn't frighten one another with our intensity. But still I regret it so very deeply and pray that you forgive and still love me as I do you with all my heart and soul.

Later on something else touched on that very theme. Something about praying to soften our hearts and being quick to forgive. Again, I feel that about myself. You are very kind and quick to forgive, my little sweetheart. And it was something that you were teaching and still are teaching me. 

After the homily and just before communion, there was a hymn, another I remember from last year. It's called Go To Dark Gethsemane. What struck me about it last year and again tonight is that next to the hymn itself, where the composer is usually listed, in big capital letters it says: REDHEAD. Isn't that amazing, my little gingersnap? The composer is actually someone with that last name - Redhead. It seemed that you were especially close in that moment.

Then, near the end, during the benediction, the pastor, the associate one, the young woman, Jes, I've told you about, was reading something from scripture in closing. "Do not be far away", she said.

My heart leapt because that's something I would always say to you, isn't it, little sweetheart? Even if you were only going into the next room or even just shifting your weight a little next to me in bed - "don't go too far away", I would always say to you.

And then, Jes, continued. "Oh, my help, please come quickly."

I needed to write these two things down and I began to do just that, but part of the Holy Thursday service is the slow outing of lights and by the time I began, the last of them were outed and we were in darkness, as we are to leave silently so. But I had my pen in hand and just kept writing even though I couldn't see. And that in itself is rather apt, don't you think, my little sweetheart?

You can see all now, all that there is. But I must wait, seeing now, as we say, through a glass darkly.

In this mortal life I must wait in darkness and just have faith that you are near and waiting for the moment you may take me to you. I must listen closely and heed your words of guidance. Even as I say and write not seeing, "don't go too far away, oh my help, my little sweetheart, please come quickly."

I love you my dear one, my true one, my only one. I love you forever. With all my heart and soul I do.