The Unknown makes for an unreliable dance partner. Just when you take the lead, it leans in for a dip.
Twelve months ago, Karen was taken away by two transport guys who zipped her into a bag. After they left, I climbed the stairs to face the empty bed. My first thought was: “I will miss the dancing.”
Dancing? Yep. Dancing won the pole position for the first thought of my new life. I have no idea why, except we don’t control our thoughts; they control us.
Consider the ways we surrender to love. For Karen, it was while held in my arms, trusting my strength, and dipping into swing-dance abandon while dancing with the Unknown.
Karen is gone, so I am left to dance without a partner.
Unlike the Unknown, a man or woman can quickly size up a dance partner, especially when you’re dancing in the kitchen. Does this person find comfort in their body? Does movement come easily? Do they long to get closer or subtly resist? Do they sway from their nether regions, follow instinctive direction, and communicate head-to-toe? Most importantly, can they connect soul-to-soul to let the Bondo come in? Karen was all those things.
How does all that differ from dancing with the Unknown? When the road map of your life flies out the window, and the tempo increases, you are dancing with the Unknown.
One year ago, Karen and I contacted Shelley, a medical intuitive living off the grid.
We asked Shelley, “What the hell is going on?” Today, of all days, I found the notes I scribbled during that call. Underlined and in all caps, I had written “FEAR,” followed by, “The medical system is FEAR-BASED.”
Wow. A year later, I can absorb about 20 percent of that statement.
The medical system is a bit like “Let’s Make a Deal,” where Monty Hall opens the envelope, pulls out the scan, points to the spot, and cues the sad trombone. On the TV version, the loser-guest smiles and takes it in stride as the audience claps.
It’s different when the doctor announces, “A1C is 5.9, BMI is 34.9, and cholesterol is 159.” Then comes the talk: “I can prescribe a statin which will reduce the likelihood of death from 20 percent to 18 percent within the next ten years.” Yes, I got that talk.
And I replied, “Really? For 2 percent, I should take a statin?”
“Lots of my patients like those odds,” the doctor replied without a hint of sarcasm.
Shelley was right: The medical system is FEAR-BASED.
Here are my notes from Shelley for Karen:
“You have kidney damage from a toxin overload. Your body is starving for nutrients. Kidneys = Fear. Not letting go of fear. Indicator of blockage. Not moving what you’re holding on to. Growth/Change accompanied by loss. It’s eating you up. You have too much to live for, too much to love. Give yourself three days to indulge in your feelings; on the fourth day, box it up and chuck it. It’s like you are dragging chains. Pull it out of your body and be done with it. Like opening the door and filling with Light.”
I remember thinking, “Go for it, Karen. Girl, you can do this!”
Shelley’s protocol included internal hydrogen peroxide, slippery elm powder, alfalfa, Irish Moss, yuva ursi, vitamin E oil, pinion salve, and several vitamins. She gave Karen a four to six-week plan. Here’s the kicker: Six hours later, we rushed to the hospital, where she endured the final indignities until her fate was sealed.
John Lennon understood this when he sang: “Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans” — a four to six-week plan. The line has become a cheesy meme but still captures the human predicament: You can’t dance with a plan, only with life itself.
Today is Karen’s Darshan.
It’s not a memorial, remembrance, or yartzheit. Darshan is Sanskrit for an "auspicious sight" of a holy person, which bestows merit on the viewer. Karen would have none of that, but I want to resolve the big question to everyone’s satisfaction: Where’s Karen?
I sent out an invite:
The Karen “sightings” continue to build, so let’s celebrate her Yahrzeit together.
Yahrzeit is a Yiddish word meaning the anniversary of a death. Karen passed on December 9, which serves as the culmination of my 12-month mission to “actively engage the grieving process.” What has that meant for me? Not taking any experiences, feelings, inner promptings, or invitations for granted. I have acted on them for the last year without doubt or hesitation.
Yes, the completion of my twelve-month vow of radical acceptance is coming up, and I’m still surprised no one used the secret decoder ring to get their feet rubbed.
Did the Grand Reset I hoped for take place? God, if I know. If you sit on the dock hoping to see the tide rise, you’ll miss the rising boats. Please help me find out.
Honestly, I have no idea if my journey has borne fruit.
I’m anticipating Karen’s Darshan as a masked ball where the truth is revealed at midnight.
I had planned the afternoon to set up the event and stayed on track until Carole Anne announced, “I want to drive to the burial site.” Thanks, John Lennon.
I don’t know if my Grief Advisory Board reads this blog, but (whispering out of shame) I haven’t visited Karen’s grave or even ordered a marker. When you discover your partner is inseparable from your being, the whole grave thing slips away.
We piled into the car, drove to Honey Creek Woodlands, hopped on a golf cart, and headed down the trail for about a mile to Meadow 2. As we walked along the wooded path, I was hit with a deja vu — like wowie-vu. I remembered rounding the bend and feeling my heartbeat pause as Karen came into view. I will never forget seeing her laid out in a basket, rimmed with flowers, roses on her heart, and primal dirt below — no funeral trappings — just the real-deal-dirt of Mother Earth.
Today, I rounded that same bend to discover her burial mound covered in wildness — random brush, ragweed, and native grasses. Like it or not, we purchased the dust-to-dust plan, and nature delivered. I busied myself, pulling weeds, making a big “K” out of stones, and resting my head on her bosom. Karen’s dog, Miko, recognized the scent immediately. Doggie Darshan is a thing.
I’m a meticulous scheduler, and the Honey Creek trip was not factored in.
We got back home with 75 minutes to prepare. That included rearranging the furniture, setting out flowers, preparing butternut squash Thai soup, and setting up for the musician. I had hoped to reflect on Culmination, but instead, the klaxon rang for hands on deck! If you know me, I thrive on the pressure of time. After years of making magic as an octave magician, I understand how to stretch and mold time to fit. Reshad called this “putting time into it.” Deadlines build pressure from the future coming in. Like the gravitational weight of the sun causing nuclear fusion and the energy needed for Life, pressure is a creative force.
By 7:00 pm, I finished the soup and took my seat in the circle of chairs. Moving through a Si-Do requires a sense of gratefulness, so it was not surprising that my heart melted in affection for those who came. Karen’s circle of lovers came to touch the ineffable, including a long-lost musician friend, Cyndi Craven. I had an intuition that she might strike the right note, so out of the blue. I invited her:
Hi Cyndi. I hope you’re well. If I remember correctly, you played at my house 30+ years ago. It was memorable. I am planning a memorial for Karen — less about remembering and more about entering the liminal space together.
And Cyndi wrote back:
Good morning, Bruce. Your memory is excellent. It was memorable for me as well. I can't believe it's been a year since your dear Karen left the body. Wow. I would be honored to offer some songs to the space. Cyndi
I explained to the guests what it means to celebrate darshan — to be in the presence of the divine with a gentle assist from the “guest of honor.”
First up, my old friend Daphne:
“Since Karen’s passing, I have learned that so many people considered Karen to be their best friend. That's exceptional. I don't know anyone who was so many people's best friend. And she was my oldest and dearest friend too, who, after struggling with a cancer diagnosis for ten years, died last year on this very day. She had visited me the summer before, and while sitting together in my living room, she turned to me and said, ‘I feel so comfortable with you.’”
“Karen needed to do this dying thing in her own time because dying is a lot like birth. Karen died just before the Hospice nurse walked in the door.”
“Last Saturday, I was at a Celtic Christmas concert with some friends when I felt Karen come close to me, as though she was checking on me or had come to say goodbye. Of course, I think of her often.”
“We are here tonight to learn to trust. If we can trust these brief moments of connection when we speak from the heart to our loved ones, then we will have found something real — something that helps us to heal.”
I thanked Daphne and invited others to share. I asked the group, “When you say the words, ‘Karen came to me,’ Is it a feeling? Is it a presence? To get a sense of that., does anyone have a Karen sighting they want to share?”
Tracey replied, “The day before Karen’s funeral, I was feeling sick.
I wanted to drive to Atlanta but knew I couldn't. Karen came to me and said, ‘I don't think you should come because it's going to be stressful for you.’ And I was like, ‘It's your funeral, and you're worried about me!!’ That was so cute. It's just so Karen to care about somebody else like that.”
Lauren, Karen’s office assistant, spoke next.
“Karen came to me in a dream. I was in Savannah to visit an art show with my sister. We were walking down the sidewalk, and Karen came up to me and hugged me.” Lauren started to cry. “Sorry, I know I don’t need to apologize, but Karen shared how happy and healthy she was. That’s my Karen sighting, and I love her so much.”
The next guest came as a surprise — Karen’s boss, Theodora. I hadn’t seen her in a year. I was stunned at how different and younger she looked. My friend, Bridget, asked me, “Is that Karen’s boss? I thought it might be her sister.”
Theodora began to share her dream:
“After Karen died, we just paused. No students were coming, and we were not in a place to continue, so we took a year off. I didn't know how to go on because we did not have her spirit to bring the program back.
“Then, we had this horrible finance meeting where the board asked where we were going. And I didn’t know what to say.
At this point, Theodora began to cry. I never imagined the executive director so vulnerable, but here it was. She continued through the tears.
“And then last month, I had a dream. Our office is an old house with beautiful stairs, the kind you might see a bride coming down. In the dream, I saw someone coming down and said, wow, that's Karen. I hadn’t seen her in a long time. Karen came down the stairs and gave me this big, big hug. Suddenly, I felt everything would be okay.
“In the dream, someone gave me this baby, and I was holding the baby. It was a beautiful baby. But I didn’t know what this baby was about. And suddenly Karen was sitting there. She was very small and had the smallest hands. She was sitting kind of like a Buddha.
"I told Karen, ‘I have this baby, and I don't know what to do with it.’ And she said, ‘Give it to me.’ I gave her the baby, and she held it. She was so happy about this baby.
“I didn't know what it meant. But after Karen held the baby, I woke up. My first thought was, wow, there's new life; something is happening. Maybe one of her sons had a baby, but as I thought about it, I realized the program would come back to life.
“The next day, I said, okay, I don't know how, but I sat down and meditated. I brainstormed and wrote and wrote and wrote, and suddenly, the energy came back. I realized how the program might work.
“I put the ‘baby’ out there — the idea for the program. It is now circulating in all three seminaries. I saw the need and what we could offer.
“I’ve had one meeting, and two more meetings are coming. I will bring this baby to these seminaries to see if we can revive the program in a new way. The courage, the energy, and the passion for this all came from Karen.”
Next up was Carole Anne.
She planned to read a poem written by Karen’s dear friend Eleanor, but the reading did not go as planned:
“I watched everyone share their experiences,” Carole Anne remembered. “And I thought, I’ll read the poem, and that will be that. But what came out was from the depth of my despair. I could even start crying now because it was so painful to recollect all the attributes of Karen in the poem:”
HEY SWEETIE
Hey sweetie, how are you?
Oh Karen, how much I miss you!
I miss your calls
I miss your caring
Your listening to my heart
Your sharing yours.I miss your touch
Walking arm-in-arm
Snuggling on the sofa
Your stroking my cheek
Yes, stroking my cheek,
Encouraging me to relax my face
Seeing me as I cannot see myself.
“As I read, I felt a door open that allowed a rush of feeling to come out, and I couldn't squelch it. Bridget tried to help, ‘Do you want somebody else to read it for you?’ And I was like, no, no. I need to do this; I don't want to chicken out, so I continued to read:
You, learning to speak up and out To touch your core To see your beauty To know your value To shine and love through pain.
I miss the sassy you
You, in a red dress
Low-cut purple blouse
A sway in your hips
A coy smile on your face
Eyes connecting
Seeing each other in essence
I delight in dancing with you.
“As I read, I felt my ribs aching,” Carole Anne shared. “And I thought, ‘Why is this crushing me?’ And Evie offered, ‘Do you want us to breathe with you?’ Yes, I said. But, my insides felt eviscerated and embarrassed with shame. I continued:”
You teach me
Dress as a woman
Wipe the mushrooms with a paper towel
Discard garlic with a green core.And
Wait quietly together
Until we each find our green core
Raw vulnerable scary beautiful
You see me
I see you
You love me
I love you!Eleanor
“And with the poem’s end, I felt my whole world flatten.”
Everything I was working toward, even my career path, had to be reassessed — just like when a fire or a flood wipes everything out, and you have to reassess your life. I had to reassess my relationship with my husband, with you, everything.
“I felt like the acorn that doesn’t know itself as a mighty oak. I wanted to grow but wasn’t quite sure how. I wanted to grow, but it takes rain, and sun, and soil. I felt dissolved and suffocated.
“I drove home the next day and went for a walk on Monday morning. It was then that Karen came to me. Was it a dream? I don’t know, but she said, ‘You don't have to do this career path and this life like you've always done. You don't have to get back into that box. And I start shaking because I have all these people relying on me.
“I shared my experience with Bridget, and she said, ‘Karen gave you a baby, too.’ And I’m like, wow. Plus, I just had a dream of being pregnant. That's fucking crazy. I'm 55, how can I be pregnant?
“So, I took my ‘baby’ and started writing again, and instead of opening a therapy practice, I am switching to become a coach. Why? A wall came down during Karen’s Darshan — a wall of grief that was covering my value, my power, and self-esteem.”
Carole Anne was driving in the rain during this conversation and naturally, I was concerned. She reassured, “Everybody's driving slow.”
After a pause, I reminded Carole Anne, “Two days after Karen passed, she told us she was sticking around. Karen wanted to help her beloveds realize that the veils between worlds are so close, so ephemeral. She wanted to help us access the creative power of the imaginal world. That’s what I hear in these dreams and sightings and the babies.”
After the Darshan, everyone went into the kitchen for soup.
Theodora sat by herself, absorbing the afterglow, so I sat beside her. If you’re keeping track, it was a Bondo move.
“Thank you, Theodora, for sharing,” I said. “That was so powerful. In a way, it redeemed this entire year.”
I had never known Theodora to be so soft inside when she shared.
“Thank you for doing this,” she said. “I hadn’t realized how Karen brought the spirit to the organization until after she passed — but she’s still with us.”
As I reflect, I didn’t know what to expect from my 12 months beyond “putting time into it.” I wanted to build sufficient creative pressure for a life reset, but I was disappointed that I didn’t get a girlfriend, a big business project, or even a dream with a baby.
As Theodora and I sat, she reflected: “Over the ten years that Karen and I worked together, I could see how you were coming through her.”
Theodora was describing my constant behind-the-scenes support to help Karen excel. I created videos and collateral, edited her documents, kept her on task, bailed out IT disasters, and gave her “rubbies” every night to relieve the stress.
“Tonight, I saw a new you,” Theodora continued. “It has been quite remarkable to observe your openness, the way you engage with people, and share your heart. As I watched, I could clearly see Karen coming through you. It’s like she’s present and with you and through you.”
I knew this, but at the same time, I didn’t. Reshad once said, “You don’t know what you know until someone tells you.” That’s what it means to be recognized. For the first time in forever, I felt recognized. Same with Carole Anne, same with all of us.
Ten years ago, Karen and I spent New Year’s Eve in the Piedmont Hospital emergency room.
Earlier on that New Year’s Eve, we were going up in a rickety elevator in a medical office building when Karen collapsed in my arms. The doctor instructed. “Take her to Piedmont.”
As the clock neared midnight in the ER, Karen and I sat with Bridget in silence. New Year’s Eve was heating up outside the door, but inside, we maintained a sacred sanctuary.
Bridget pulled out a book. “It’s getting late. Can I read you a bedtime story?”
It was a used book that caught Bridget’s eye. She paid three bucks and put it into her purse.
“It’s from from Beauty: The Invisible Embrace, by John O'Donohue.”
With perfect timing, she began to read:
“All through your life your soul takes care of you. Despite its best brightness, your mind can never illuminate what your life is doing. You are always in a state of knowing, but that knowing, while often lucid and deep, is more often faltering and shadowed. At times you feel immensely present in your life, rooted in what is happening to you, utterly there. At other times, you are only vaguely in your life; things are blurred, and confusion or distraction owns your days... Yet through all these times, your soul is alive and awakened, gathering, sheltering and guiding your ways and days in the world. In effect, your soul is your secret shelter.”1
As Bridget read, I felt safe knowing that my soul, my mostly-ignored but ever-constant life companion, had not forgotten me. Bridget continued.
“Without ever surfacing or becoming explicit, your soul takes care of you. Never once while you are here does your soul lose touch with the eternal. Your soul makes sure that God's dream for you is always edging towards fulfillment even when at times the opposite seems to be the case. At times of immense suffering or the most ecstatic joy, your life breaks through the shadowing and you come to sense that something else is minding and guiding you. This is the nature of the consolation and infinitely tender embrace your soul always provides for you.”2
John O’Donohue gave Karen and I the strength to persevere. Guided by faith and inner strength, we enjoyed an unexpected ten years of a vital, passionate, and creative life together.
And tonight, twelve months after Karen returned to Mother Earth, that same book appeared. I discovered a passage that answers “Where’s Karen” conclusively:
The dead are not distant or absent. They are alongside us. When we lose someone to death, we lose their physical image and presence, they slip out of visible form into invisible presence. This alteration of form is the reason we cannot see the dead. But because we cannot see them does not mean that they are not there. Transfigured into eternal form, the dead cannot reverse the journey and even for one second re-enter their old form to linger with us a while. Though they cannot reappear, they continue to be near us and part of the healing of grief is the refinement of our hearts whereby we come to sense their loving nearness. When we ourselves enter the eternal world and come to see our lives on earth in full view, we may be surprised at the immense assistance and support with which our departed loved ones have accompanied every moment of our lives. In their new, transfigured presence their compassion, understanding and love take on a divine depth, enabling them to become secret angels guiding and sheltering the unfolding of our destiny.
Thank you for being with me.
If there is a truth about human connection, we need each other. Not in a saccharine way but in the knowledge that we can only thrive, love, create, and fulfill our destiny connected with other human beings.
I choose to call it Bondo.
O’Donohue, John. 2005. Beauty: The Invisible Embrace. Reprint edition. New York: Harper Perennial.
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