Hopi Prayer...

A new friend inspired me to research native-american tribes. I found this Hopi prayer, and it reminds me of the last book in His Dark Materials series when those in the underworld dissipate in the air, joining their "souls," and are free.



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 the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet white doves in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there,I did not die.

My cousin died today -- To Heather Montoya!

I feel completely morbid writing this on my blog, but I think putting what has happened in written form will help me process the loss of someone I felt connected to -- a new thing for me.

I met Hezzy at our family reunion in the little town of Golondrinas, New Mexico. Our family, the Montoyas, have lived in this gorgeous part of NM for a good deal of time and the family ranch is immense. As a child, I'd visit and swim in the river, cross the rope bridge, and eat Aunt Daisy's homemade tortillas and chile con carne. AWESOME! In the summer of 2007, we had a huge family reunion, and it was at this reunion that I met Hez. 6 years older than I, I saw her as the older sister I'd really like to imitate. Vivacious, spunky, ain't gonna take crap from anyone, she was pretty much the bees knees. She and I talked about our travels, our passions, our lives as we gallivanted with the fam, drinking and dancing around the bon-fire. That Fall, I visited her in San Francisco, and below is one of our many fotografias. I've decided to leave out the many she took of me when I was pretty tipsy. HA!

I was hoping to visit Hez again this past Friday, but things didn't work out. I've been up in the Berkeley for a writing project, and on Monday, I received a call from many different family members (in NM and in CA) that I needed to go to the ICU of Pacific Campus in SF because Hez had had a stroke Sunday evening and then soon slipped into a coma due to the aneurysm in her brain located near the spinal chord I think. I was pretty much unbelieving of the seriousness of the situation until I saw her that evening, and then and there, I realized that it was bad, very bad. Tuesday we heard that her reflexes had shown some reaction and that there was still blood flow on the top of her brain, but Wednesday, yesterday, the doctor revealed that the scan showed a larger hemorrhage than anticipated and irreversible damage on the lower part of her brain.

Conversation then became more about organ donation and the celebration of her life to be held Saturday. Fortunately, providentially, I happened to extend my flight until Sunday morning, so I'll be here, and I'm glad and moved because I've been present with Hezzy during this whole time; what a privilege! Even today, I walked to the hospital from the BART and a visit to CIIS, and I arrived later than I hoped, but as I arrived, I encountered Hez's mom, Francesca, and we had this amazing healing conversation about my shawl that I had put on Hezzy while in the hospital and how Fran planned to wear it the next few days, put it on Hez's altar at the celebration on Saturday, and then give it back to me with all the blessed energy! And, yes, it was as I was talking with Fran, at 3:11 (Hez's birthday and room number in ICU) that Hez was pronounced dead.

I'm here, I'm present, and I'm thankful. I love you, sister, prima, Hezzy Montoya.

You lived life fully; you were larger than life; you were an inspiration to LIVE OUTLOUD!

"Life is on our side" -- Thomas Merton to Czeslaw Milosz

Just got a start on the letters between Merton and Milosz, entitled Striving Towards Being. A mentor recommended the book, and the title sealed the deal. I feel I've come across these letters before in undergrad, but this morning, these passages -- on integrity and our own dishonesty -- stood out to me.

There has to be a third position, a position of integrity, which refuses subjection to the pressures of the two massive groups ranged against each other in the world. It is quite simply obvious that the future, in plain dialectical terms, rests with those of us who risk our heads and our necks and everything in the difficult, fantastic job of finding out the new position, the ever-changing and moving “line” that is NO line at all because it cannot be traced out by political dogmatists. And that is the difficulty, and the challenge. I am the last in the world to pretend to know anything about it. One thing I do know, is that anyone who is interested in God Who is Truth, has to break out of the ready-made shells of the “captive” positions that offer their convenient escapes from freedom — one who loves freedom must go through the painful experience of seeking it, perhaps without success (4).

In silence and suffering, in the heartbreaking effort to be honest in the midst of dishonesty (most of all our own dishonesty), in all these is victory (19).

What i mean by spirituality....

Yesterday had a meeting with my potential mentor/advisor up in Berkeley. We talked about story-telling has the connection between theory and action! And, we talked about spirituality...

This morning, I found this in Oliver's Winter Hours.

What I mean by spirituality is not theology, but attitude. Such interest nourishes me beyond the finest compendium of facts. In my mind now, in any comparison of demonstrated truths and unproven but vivid intuitions, the truths lose. . . .I would therefore write a kind of elemental poetry. . . I would not talk about the wind, and the oak tree, and the leaf on the oak tree, but on their behalf. I would talk about the owl and the thunderworm and the daffodil and the red-spotted newt as a company of spirits, as well as bodies. I would say that the fox stepping out over the snow has nerves as fine as mine, and a better courage. I would write praise poems that might serves as comforts, reminders, or even cautions if needed, to wayward minds and unawakened hearts.



Reminds me of this Oliver poem from "Thirst":
when I sleep I feel you near.
When I wake, and you are already wiping the stars away,
I rise quickly, hoping to be like your wild child
the rose, the honey-maker the honey-vine;
a bird shouting its joy as it floats
through the gift you have given us; another day.

A map of our own: the 100 aker woods

J-A and I pondered the goodness in Christopher Robin's map the other day. We decided that an adapted map would be perfect for a baby's room. I also said how inclined I am to make one of my own. I really want to have the tree house.

Here is CR's treehouse, here is Oliver's sandpit, here is J-A's tree with the door on the side. :)

Dancing for six hours....

is easy with the right group of people.

Horses horses horses

I really enjoy trail-riding with my brother. This last time, I was nearly thrown from the horse, but I prevailed. I'm quite proud of myself, and I owe my skills to brother Scott.