The Bardo, photograph by Debra J. Hobbs, © QuoinMonkey, August 15th, 2020.
I meant to do better. To take more Polaroids, roll more clay, shut up and write. But 2020 had other ideas. For my birthday in high summer, Liz gave me a new deck of cards — The Wild Unknown – Archetypes by Kim Krans. The art was created from the center of a dark night of the soul. I pull a card a week. Saturday, August 15th landed me in The Bardo. I was already there. What changed is my willingness to straddle the abyss, to sit in uncomfortable places — in this life and what I imagine to be the next.
In this life, a family member is recovering from COVID-19. Two long time friends are in treatment for cancer, maybe the fight of their lives. Two other friends buried their 6-month old kitten, lost to a disease of unknown origin. In this life, babies are born unseen by grandparents, couples are married on Zoom, people die unable to hold a loved one’s hand. In this life, cities explode, humans rumble and rattle, tired of gridlock, tired of the status quo.
In this life, last night we locked ourselves in the bathroom to the howls of tornado sirens and horizontal rain. In this life, we wear masks, cancel our travel plans, stack bookshelves to the top of 9-foot ceilings, rearrange our studio to hold Liz’s work-at-home office next to old Kodachrome slides and boxes of art supplies.
I am digging in. And expanding out. I am rattling old bones. Untangling ancient root systems. Beliefs are not truths. I am learning that denial is a form of grief. It’s not the Thing that is dead, but how I’ve been doing the Thing. Shine your light, luminous or liminal. That is the Leo energy of August 2020 (from Lindsay Mack’s August podcast, Tarot for the Wild Soul).
I meant to do better. Prayer flags wave against an overflow bookshelf above photographs of my great, great grandparents. I research the goddess Eris, sister of Ares, daughter of Night. I listen to old astrology tapes, a choir hymn hummed through face masks, the tingle of ghost chimes.
In the Bardo:
We may receive messages from those who are no longer with us or see visions of lives not yet lived. In the Bardo there is the potential to forgive the unforgivable, to say the unsaid, to see the unseen, to love the unloved, to let go of all the things that cause us pain. The Bardo suspends us in its spaciousness for just long enough to open us to higher wisdom. Its energy does not belong to the Earth as we know it, but rather to the Cosmic network of which we are a single thread.
“I meant to do better.” Yes. I meant to do better, too. The Bardo describes this time so perfectly. Liminal. A kind of wandering, lostness. I keep reminding myself of the instruction to not look away, to not avert my gaze. (Are you familiar with the CD “Songs From the Bardo?” I was listening to that a lot during the months of March and April while in lockdown. I think you can find most — maybe all — of it on YouTube.)
Hoping that your friends recover, come to a place of good health. In this time we’ve lost three people just in the last two months although only one Covid related. One family member, two friends. In this time, my best friend lost her sister in a horrible way and I’m doing the best I can to be there for her as she grieves and howls, finding myself wanting to grieve and howl with her over almost everything. Another friend told me about Francis Weller and something he says about how we humans are made to hold grief/sorrow in one hand and joy in the other. I am reminded of that because with all the grief, there have been joys. Spending time here in NE Ohio, our bubble joined with that of our youngest son, his wife, and our two grandsons. We’ve been here almost 2 months (and will be going back to the Eastern Shore in Maryland the end of this month). There is nothing like the joy of toddlers (they are ages 4 and 2). We’ve been creating art, going on hikes, learning together.
I love what you wrote about digging in and expanding out. Yes to that, too.
Thank you for this post, QM. ❤
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Robin, it is so good to connect with you here. And thank you for your words of wisdom. I’m sorry about all the grief and loss you are experiencing, too. It’s so heavy at times, I’m not sure what to do with it either. The Bardo seemed like a good place to sit for a while. I don’t know about Francis Weller, but I know Natalie taught us that we had to hold both of those things, grief and joy at the same time when we write. It makes a lot of sense. That we have to hold everything, all of the human experience.
After I wrote this post, I was thinking that it might seem so heavy and down to those reading it. Which is why your response is heartening. I am trying to write more, to do art, to use them as vehicles. I have felt blocked in that way and have turned mostly to the practical. It feels good to be here on the page again.
You are right about JOY. I also feel a lot of joy when I look at photos of my nieces and nephews, grand nieces and nephews. Liz and I don’t live close to family so it is all virtual for us. I’m glad you had a chance to spend time with your youngest son, his wife, and your grandsons. I see changes in those around me who are embracing the isolation as a chance to be close to those in their bubble and learn who they are in the internet age. Who are we in 2020?
Listening seems so important right now. I will look up Songs from the Bardo. I had not heard of it. Sounds like the perfect music for these times.
Thank you again for your comment. You encourage me to keep writing, to hone my voice in whatever form that takes. Much gratitude. Keep howling with your friend. It’s a form of love. Love to you.
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I do hope you keep writing, QM, and posting here when you feel up to it. There is such heartfulness to your writing. I think this world needs more of that.
Love to you, too.
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This is like a strange fallow time when we are all driven inwards -to extract nutrients from past experience, from present condition; to live within limits and constraints and to learn from that how we might go forward. Maybe living inside Bardo is a great and good thing? Maybe we learn to be generous with our attention and love, and to be accepting of whatever conditions surround us. i like it, and yet at the same time yearn to touch others and be touched in return. My friend, who is out shopping for fruit and vegetables for me right now, has left me her Staffordshire, Fridge, to keep company. It brings me great joy to touch his grainy sleek heft, and gaze into his soulful amber eyes. My son’s, grand-daughter’s and sister’s daily voices over the telephone are balms and gifts. Keep writing QM, and sharing your observations with us all. Sustain well! G
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Robin, thank you. I’ve started to do more writing and it does feel good to be back at the page again. Routine is good. I will keep going. Autumn is here in Minnesota. I can’t believe it is nearly October.
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So great to hear from you. It’s always so satisfying to hear from those we started blogging with all those years ago. There is so much information out there now. How do people squeeze themselves in edgewise?
Maybe it IS a good thing to live inside the Bardo for a bit. I like how you say it, “Maybe we learn to be generous with our attention and love, and to be accepting of whatever conditions surround us.” There is a part of me that likes how things slowed down and nearly ground to a halt. The quiet. Less traffic. But that is all back to nearly past levels with the exception of schools. It was moving to hear the silence back in March in this urban area.
I’m glad you have your son, granddaughter, and sister to check in on you. It’s good to have people who care around us. I am lucky to have Liz on this journey with me. To have a supportive family/ And to still have work and health. I know it’s a luxury to be able to sit and reflect. I will keep writing. Thank you for your support. I wish you well out on the western edges. Keep taking good care of yourself. Much love.
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