I am in California, where Jason thought he might go to college. We just visited my brother Al’s family’s near Lake Tahoe that is a museum of Jason’s art, hung in every room. Jason is with me everywhere I go, and recently I had some profound experiences that remind me that we are not separate.
I have always wanted to go to Mt. Shasta to feel its vortex energy. A week ago, sitting in meditation at the headwaters of Panther Meadows, a place of Indian and Western sacred ritual, I realized I hadn’t thought of Jason since I landed in Mt. Shasta a few hours before and through the beautiful hike up to the meadows. I thought that was significant, and immediately I connected with Jason and saw some clear images.
Jason was an eagle, soaring through the mist of the mountain, free and powerful. The eagle is an appropriate totem for Jason. I was soaring with him, as a condor, a symbol of death, release, and transformation. We flew together for a while, until it felt we were one winged being. My semi-lucid mind recalled the Peruvian prophecy that at this time in our evolution it is important for the eagle and the condor to fly as one.
Coming out of meditation I felt lightness I hadn’t felt in some time. The previous day I was in some heaviness, looking out at a valley by Lassen volcano that had been destroyed by a fire in August 2009, at the time of Jason’s passing. Now I felt that heaviness gone, and I was in inspiration. There is something very powerful about connecting with Jason in this way, as we are merged into one being.
Two nights ago Kule and I joined an Osho group with our friend Rob (Atmaram) in Santa Cruz to do the Quantum Light Breath meditation. I set an intention to release all judgments, especially those I have about myself and what I can create. Jason’s presence was so palpable that another meditator shared that she felt it, too, not knowing about Jason at the time.
During the meditation my pelvis was being rocked rhythmically in a highly energetic fashion, helping release old stuff, and feeling a connection with Source very deeply. Jason was there, helping me rock and roll.
After the meditation I shared my experience and Rob, who had been resonating with Jason’s messages this past year, shared that there seemed to be something unique about the merging that I have been sharing with Jason. Hearing him express this, I felt some excitement, some recognition that this is happening, that Jason and I chose to do this at a soul level.
Yesterday, we walked through the ancient redwood forest and found a 1000-2000 yr old tree that had survived a fire. The inside was hollowed out and charred completely, and the outside was a magnificent giant living tree. Looking up through the inside, I felt very strongly the qualities of death and life co-existing in this tree. It was more than beautiful, it was peaceful ancient wisdom. It was telling me that death and life are not separate, that forms change but do not cease to exist.
The bottom line (or the Top Line) is that we are all one, we are not separate, and we are eternal . My experience with Jason has cleared my doubts about that, and it helps me to pass on this understanding to others by simply sharing Jason’s story.
I am feeling the call of getting to work to publish the book about Jason’s messages, to share this in a bigger way.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Earth Mother, 10/5/10
On this beautiful lush land in Lost Valley, Oregon I was thinking of Jason and being with grief I hadn’t felt in a while. Being here gave me the opportunity to slow down from travel and social activities.
As soon as I started connecting fully with Jason’s spirit on this land, I felt another presence, an omnipresence that was rich and beautiful. I continued walking on the Cedar trail of this permaculture education center outside Eugene Oregon. We came across two tombstones in the woods from the 80’s, when the land belonged to a Christian camp.
Looking at the dates, the first tombstone was of a girl who died at 22 yrs. The second tombstone was for a baby who died at 7 months. Instantly the tears came. I wept for the loss of these children. I felt the grief of the parents who lost these precious young ones. I know what this kind of grief is. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I came across these tombs on my first walk here. I also knew right away why these children were buried in this remote wooded area, nestled among trees, in front of a prominent tall tree stump that symbolized death and rebirth, nurtured by mother earth.
A sign was on the ground next to the tombs, barely visible in the grass. It read: “From Death comes Life.”
I paused to be with the grief and to feel the omnipresent energy I felt earlier, now even more strongly. This is the divine feminine energy, mother earth. She is loving these children. She is loving all of us. The message was so clear – the land and all life on it here loves everyone who stays here to nurture her back, tilling her soil, caring for her animals, appreciating the beauty, teaching others how to connect with nature in this way.
I got my first class in permaculture at Lost Valley, from the Earth herself.
Moving up the trail to a sunny area, I meditated for a while. When I opened my eyes I noticed a small fungus growing out of decaying matter. It showed me the cycle of life, death and new life. As I studied this small plant, I received a definition of permaculture, of what I call “Personal Permaculture”:
“If we see everything as spirit (energy) transforming from one form to another, then there is no loss and we see abundance and the worth of every living thing.”
These have been Jason’s messages all along, and his passing has given me a clearer view of these energetic connections, and an understanding of how there is no loss when we die, but a change in form. Jason has proven this to me; I have no doubt.
If we can connect energetically with all life, the earth, plants, animals, and other humans in this way, then our fears about loss dissolve and we can live life more fully and create more aliveness within ourselves as well as all we perceive outside ourselves.
This is personal permaculture. I don’t see how we can truly live in harmony with all that is without a belief in this energetic connection, without some spiritual connection. Permaculture education seems to be weighed toward the science and experimental observations, with reference to listening to what nature has to tell and show us. Perhaps there will be greater and greater focus on the spiritual aspect, back to the indigenous wisdom.
I’m curious about pursuing the spiritual path of permaculture, and will be returning to Lost Valley to spend some time here with the land and the knowledgeable and creative people who contribute to this special place.
On our third and last day of our first visit here, I walked along the creek trail and found a soft log to sit on. As I picked up my phone to make a call, it immediately didn’t feel right to be using electronic technology, but rather to be with nature here. I looked up and saw a doe and her baby deer feeding across the creek. I hung with them until they moseyed off to find more food. Back at the parking lot as I was packing the car, I met another mother with her baby who stayed in visual relaxed contact with me for several minutes, it seemed.
The mother energy is strong here, and it has reminded me of how strong my own mother energy is, and my connection with my soul child.
It’s sweet hanging out in Bambi country with Jason.
As soon as I started connecting fully with Jason’s spirit on this land, I felt another presence, an omnipresence that was rich and beautiful. I continued walking on the Cedar trail of this permaculture education center outside Eugene Oregon. We came across two tombstones in the woods from the 80’s, when the land belonged to a Christian camp.
Looking at the dates, the first tombstone was of a girl who died at 22 yrs. The second tombstone was for a baby who died at 7 months. Instantly the tears came. I wept for the loss of these children. I felt the grief of the parents who lost these precious young ones. I know what this kind of grief is. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I came across these tombs on my first walk here. I also knew right away why these children were buried in this remote wooded area, nestled among trees, in front of a prominent tall tree stump that symbolized death and rebirth, nurtured by mother earth.
A sign was on the ground next to the tombs, barely visible in the grass. It read: “From Death comes Life.”
I paused to be with the grief and to feel the omnipresent energy I felt earlier, now even more strongly. This is the divine feminine energy, mother earth. She is loving these children. She is loving all of us. The message was so clear – the land and all life on it here loves everyone who stays here to nurture her back, tilling her soil, caring for her animals, appreciating the beauty, teaching others how to connect with nature in this way.
I got my first class in permaculture at Lost Valley, from the Earth herself.
Moving up the trail to a sunny area, I meditated for a while. When I opened my eyes I noticed a small fungus growing out of decaying matter. It showed me the cycle of life, death and new life. As I studied this small plant, I received a definition of permaculture, of what I call “Personal Permaculture”:
“If we see everything as spirit (energy) transforming from one form to another, then there is no loss and we see abundance and the worth of every living thing.”
These have been Jason’s messages all along, and his passing has given me a clearer view of these energetic connections, and an understanding of how there is no loss when we die, but a change in form. Jason has proven this to me; I have no doubt.
If we can connect energetically with all life, the earth, plants, animals, and other humans in this way, then our fears about loss dissolve and we can live life more fully and create more aliveness within ourselves as well as all we perceive outside ourselves.
This is personal permaculture. I don’t see how we can truly live in harmony with all that is without a belief in this energetic connection, without some spiritual connection. Permaculture education seems to be weighed toward the science and experimental observations, with reference to listening to what nature has to tell and show us. Perhaps there will be greater and greater focus on the spiritual aspect, back to the indigenous wisdom.
I’m curious about pursuing the spiritual path of permaculture, and will be returning to Lost Valley to spend some time here with the land and the knowledgeable and creative people who contribute to this special place.
On our third and last day of our first visit here, I walked along the creek trail and found a soft log to sit on. As I picked up my phone to make a call, it immediately didn’t feel right to be using electronic technology, but rather to be with nature here. I looked up and saw a doe and her baby deer feeding across the creek. I hung with them until they moseyed off to find more food. Back at the parking lot as I was packing the car, I met another mother with her baby who stayed in visual relaxed contact with me for several minutes, it seemed.
The mother energy is strong here, and it has reminded me of how strong my own mother energy is, and my connection with my soul child.
It’s sweet hanging out in Bambi country with Jason.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Travelling with Jason
We’ve been on the road over five weeks, and it feels like I’m past due to get home, although I am on a roll and excited about continuing on. I’ve been used to travelling a few weeks and headed back home, to Jason.
This journey I’m not headed back, and Jason is travelling with me.
Jason is everywhere. He’s taking photographs of Badlands, mystical trees, and weird mushrooms. He’s hanging with the cool young people. He’s checking out the amazing artistic creations. He’s playing with the street musicians. He’s selling his photographs at the community marketplace. Jason would have loved the northwest cities of Seattle, Portland, and Eugene, with all the diversity, openness, and friendliness here.
The emptiness caught up to me today when I heard the marimba playing on the street corner leaving the farmer’s market. The young man was playing a song that sounded very much like Jason’s composition; it stopped me in my tracks. As I walked away on weak legs, I sat with the pain and let it flow out with my tears. Back to being in the moment with my new dear friends, I also reflect on the importance of acknowledging the pain as it arises.
Jason was hanging with us when we visited Ben, Noah, and Samara at Orcas Island. We had so much fun, I forgot the pain of his absence, with the exception of a few moments in which we shared some grief together. Jason was definitely inspiring Ben to do the water phone ritual with water dragons in Crescent Lake. We got randomly silly and ridiculous together like old times, now with Kule joining in. Jason was enjoying watching us play.
Every time I meet someone who talks about their grown up children and what they do together, which has been quite often in this trip, I feel some pain of my own loss. I miss seeing Jason continue to evolve in his human body. I miss sharing my life with him. I miss him. Simple.
I also continue to get clear signs that Jason is with me. At Yellowstone Falls I felt Jason’s power in the flow of tons of clear water. At Olympic National Park during my visit with the sacred Sitka tree, the grandmother spirit blessed me with her love and acknowledged the amazing love I have for Jason; Jason showered his love for me through this ancient wise tree.
These were potent experiences. They brought me back to the place of trusting in the unseen, in the incredible energetic connection we can have with each other in life and after life.
It's awesome travelling with you, Jason.
This journey I’m not headed back, and Jason is travelling with me.
Jason is everywhere. He’s taking photographs of Badlands, mystical trees, and weird mushrooms. He’s hanging with the cool young people. He’s checking out the amazing artistic creations. He’s playing with the street musicians. He’s selling his photographs at the community marketplace. Jason would have loved the northwest cities of Seattle, Portland, and Eugene, with all the diversity, openness, and friendliness here.
The emptiness caught up to me today when I heard the marimba playing on the street corner leaving the farmer’s market. The young man was playing a song that sounded very much like Jason’s composition; it stopped me in my tracks. As I walked away on weak legs, I sat with the pain and let it flow out with my tears. Back to being in the moment with my new dear friends, I also reflect on the importance of acknowledging the pain as it arises.
Jason was hanging with us when we visited Ben, Noah, and Samara at Orcas Island. We had so much fun, I forgot the pain of his absence, with the exception of a few moments in which we shared some grief together. Jason was definitely inspiring Ben to do the water phone ritual with water dragons in Crescent Lake. We got randomly silly and ridiculous together like old times, now with Kule joining in. Jason was enjoying watching us play.
Every time I meet someone who talks about their grown up children and what they do together, which has been quite often in this trip, I feel some pain of my own loss. I miss seeing Jason continue to evolve in his human body. I miss sharing my life with him. I miss him. Simple.
I also continue to get clear signs that Jason is with me. At Yellowstone Falls I felt Jason’s power in the flow of tons of clear water. At Olympic National Park during my visit with the sacred Sitka tree, the grandmother spirit blessed me with her love and acknowledged the amazing love I have for Jason; Jason showered his love for me through this ancient wise tree.
These were potent experiences. They brought me back to the place of trusting in the unseen, in the incredible energetic connection we can have with each other in life and after life.
It's awesome travelling with you, Jason.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Message 39 - Forever
“I’ll hold you in my heart forever.”
I got the message from Jason in a laminated photo card from 2003 that I found as I went through the last box I was whittling down, packing to leave the next day on our cross-country journey, vacating the house in time for the new tenants. It was in a box of momentos from a chaotic bureau drawer that had not been searched since before we moved to Ipswich. It’s not something I would normally keep, a leftover from the bundled package of 5th grade school photos from Lifetouch, and the kind of souvenir I would judge as being a bit chintzy or something to that effect (well of course parents hold their children in their hearts.)
I know now why it was kept. It had a message for the future for me.
Jason is holding me in his heart forever.
Jason is here for me. He is helping me prepare for my big journey. He is telling me that everything is in my heart and in his heart. There is nothing else that is really important.
Earlier in the evening when the walls of Kule’s room resurfaced after last-minute removal of furniture, we discovered another message posted on the wall.
How in heck did we ever miss seeing that after we moved Jason’s bed? We saved all the poetry and funny creative sketches Jason had posted on his walls, but we didn’t see this one. This was an intimate and heartful one not intended for public viewing, but meant for us to see it at the right time. This was the time, to give us one last message from his wall. I swear he posted it after Kule moved in, I wouldn’t be surprised!
With those two messages, I flowed through the late hours of the night finishing our packing and lifting the last few boxes into the attic. Our home is also holding us in her heart, holding our stuff, should we need it again some day before we sell the house.
It is now 4 days after leaving our home in Ipswich. I am sitting on the riverview porch of Kule’s brother Kim in Wisconsin, feeling the caress of the sun and breezes. It’s time for R&R, after some intense packing, long drives, and sweet socially active times with my college friend Monica in Ohio and Kule’s brother Jon’s family outside Chicago.
I shed a few tears of grief, of gratitude, of relief, of awe. We are really doing this. We are homeless and we are home-ful. We are on a journey similar to what I was supporting Jason to do before going to college, and it’s a journey I have wanted to take for some time.
Jason is inspiring me every step of the way.
Forever.
Love,Mom
I got the message from Jason in a laminated photo card from 2003 that I found as I went through the last box I was whittling down, packing to leave the next day on our cross-country journey, vacating the house in time for the new tenants. It was in a box of momentos from a chaotic bureau drawer that had not been searched since before we moved to Ipswich. It’s not something I would normally keep, a leftover from the bundled package of 5th grade school photos from Lifetouch, and the kind of souvenir I would judge as being a bit chintzy or something to that effect (well of course parents hold their children in their hearts.)
I know now why it was kept. It had a message for the future for me.
Jason is holding me in his heart forever.
Jason is here for me. He is helping me prepare for my big journey. He is telling me that everything is in my heart and in his heart. There is nothing else that is really important.
Earlier in the evening when the walls of Kule’s room resurfaced after last-minute removal of furniture, we discovered another message posted on the wall.
How in heck did we ever miss seeing that after we moved Jason’s bed? We saved all the poetry and funny creative sketches Jason had posted on his walls, but we didn’t see this one. This was an intimate and heartful one not intended for public viewing, but meant for us to see it at the right time. This was the time, to give us one last message from his wall. I swear he posted it after Kule moved in, I wouldn’t be surprised!
With those two messages, I flowed through the late hours of the night finishing our packing and lifting the last few boxes into the attic. Our home is also holding us in her heart, holding our stuff, should we need it again some day before we sell the house.
It is now 4 days after leaving our home in Ipswich. I am sitting on the riverview porch of Kule’s brother Kim in Wisconsin, feeling the caress of the sun and breezes. It’s time for R&R, after some intense packing, long drives, and sweet socially active times with my college friend Monica in Ohio and Kule’s brother Jon’s family outside Chicago.
I shed a few tears of grief, of gratitude, of relief, of awe. We are really doing this. We are homeless and we are home-ful. We are on a journey similar to what I was supporting Jason to do before going to college, and it’s a journey I have wanted to take for some time.
Jason is inspiring me every step of the way.
Forever.
Love,Mom
Sunday, August 22, 2010
A Year to Live
It’s been a year since Jason passed to the other side, and I have learned so much about how to live.
Before Jason died, my beloved Kule and I were reading a book together by Stephen Levine called “A Year to Live” about living your life as it were your last year. We were inspired to follow the book, and after Jason died we went all out. Certainly there was a strong message that life can be very short, and what are we waiting for? I had been planning to move (or at least explore) outside New England when Jason graduated, from the time we moved to Ipswich five years ago. I had mentally planned out getting rid of my furniture and whittling down my things to do the move. It’s finally happened in this past year, and it feels so-o-o-o good. Jason’s pretty excited about it, too!
Over the past year I’ve written other blog entries about death and rebirth. I died when Jason died. Now I have the opportunity to re-live the way I choose to. Not that I wasn’t living how I wanted to live in most respects. I am so grateful to have the supportive and loving friends and family that I do. The photo above beams it all.
I’m feeling more freedom amidst the chaos of moving and preparing my business and myself for a new lifestyle, being on the road exploring with my favorite travel companion. Jason will be with us, too, as we drive through cool vistas, as I imagine stopping every 5 minutes for him to take a shot. Actually, I just decided I will ritually stop once in a while to give him that chance. We always had fun travelling together, and that isn’t going to change.
We are starting a journey, and that isn’t new, either. We are always starting a journey, every morning we wake up, in every moment and every breath. During our wonderful sendoff party with friends we did a ritual where each of us shared the title of the new chapter in each of our lives. We are all launching journeys together.
I’ve studied a bit of Feng Shui and Vastu (the Hindu version) and have felt the improvement of energy when clutter is cleaned up. I’m noticing now how light I feel. I’ve just released so much old energy from the past, and I’m not weighted down to move more freely. Getting the leased signed with our new tenants greased the skids. Having our sendoff celebrations (at our home and at the beach kirtan last night) dissolved the skids – we are ready to roll!
There has been so much to get in order before we take off, I won’t bore you with the details. All I know is at every step I wondered why I didn’t do this years ago. I’ve even digitized my photographs to lighten our load and to post and email them to Jason’s friends and family, a little at a time, little surprises for his friends in coming months. I finally backed up my recording studio, to encourage me to record my own compositions; ya think Jason has anything to do with that, huh?!
In the book “A Year to Live” Stephen also talks a lot about not only getting your house and business in order (for yourself and not to burden your successors with how to sort through it all), but also your emotional energy. What unfinished business do I have with others? I was so fortunate to not have any unresolved items with Jason, although he was certainly available after he passed to do that in spirit. I’m not sure if I uncovered all of the unfinishedness yet, but I certainly have found myself in a gratitude-plus state of acknowledging the preciousness of every person in my life, and all the gifts they bring, and perhaps gifts they could bring out even more.
Jason’s message “Follow Your Passion” goes a long way!
Bon Voyage, dear ones!
Love,
Michelle and Jason
Before Jason died, my beloved Kule and I were reading a book together by Stephen Levine called “A Year to Live” about living your life as it were your last year. We were inspired to follow the book, and after Jason died we went all out. Certainly there was a strong message that life can be very short, and what are we waiting for? I had been planning to move (or at least explore) outside New England when Jason graduated, from the time we moved to Ipswich five years ago. I had mentally planned out getting rid of my furniture and whittling down my things to do the move. It’s finally happened in this past year, and it feels so-o-o-o good. Jason’s pretty excited about it, too!
Over the past year I’ve written other blog entries about death and rebirth. I died when Jason died. Now I have the opportunity to re-live the way I choose to. Not that I wasn’t living how I wanted to live in most respects. I am so grateful to have the supportive and loving friends and family that I do. The photo above beams it all.
I’m feeling more freedom amidst the chaos of moving and preparing my business and myself for a new lifestyle, being on the road exploring with my favorite travel companion. Jason will be with us, too, as we drive through cool vistas, as I imagine stopping every 5 minutes for him to take a shot. Actually, I just decided I will ritually stop once in a while to give him that chance. We always had fun travelling together, and that isn’t going to change.
We are starting a journey, and that isn’t new, either. We are always starting a journey, every morning we wake up, in every moment and every breath. During our wonderful sendoff party with friends we did a ritual where each of us shared the title of the new chapter in each of our lives. We are all launching journeys together.
I’ve studied a bit of Feng Shui and Vastu (the Hindu version) and have felt the improvement of energy when clutter is cleaned up. I’m noticing now how light I feel. I’ve just released so much old energy from the past, and I’m not weighted down to move more freely. Getting the leased signed with our new tenants greased the skids. Having our sendoff celebrations (at our home and at the beach kirtan last night) dissolved the skids – we are ready to roll!
There has been so much to get in order before we take off, I won’t bore you with the details. All I know is at every step I wondered why I didn’t do this years ago. I’ve even digitized my photographs to lighten our load and to post and email them to Jason’s friends and family, a little at a time, little surprises for his friends in coming months. I finally backed up my recording studio, to encourage me to record my own compositions; ya think Jason has anything to do with that, huh?!
In the book “A Year to Live” Stephen also talks a lot about not only getting your house and business in order (for yourself and not to burden your successors with how to sort through it all), but also your emotional energy. What unfinished business do I have with others? I was so fortunate to not have any unresolved items with Jason, although he was certainly available after he passed to do that in spirit. I’m not sure if I uncovered all of the unfinishedness yet, but I certainly have found myself in a gratitude-plus state of acknowledging the preciousness of every person in my life, and all the gifts they bring, and perhaps gifts they could bring out even more.
Jason’s message “Follow Your Passion” goes a long way!
Bon Voyage, dear ones!
Love,
Michelle and Jason
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Hanging Out
When Jason was ill his junior year with mono, I asked him what cheered him up the most, in addition to doing his art and music. He said he liked hanging out with his friends, and he was really missing that. When I asked him what they did, he said they just hung out , and he was annoyed by any other questions. I thought I understood the message at the time, but I really get it now.
Jason was a master at hanging out. He was present, in the moment, enjoying the beauty and creativity of that instant. I’m getting it, and I’m doing it so much more in my life since Jason passed.
I hung out with Jason and his friends during the candle-lit walk through Ipswich, crossing the river a few times, a beautiful procession of lit faces sharing fond memories of their dear friend. It was a gorgeous night but very windy. A few of us noticed how Jason liked playing with us, getting us to focus keeping our candles lit and laughing about it, just like the intense heat of his funeral ceremony. Jason liked fire. He needed more of it when he was in his body, and he’s got it now.
I noticed my mind wondering where we were going, when we were going to stop and share memories by the river, wondering if Jason’s younger friends really wanted us older generation there, wondering if I “should” be spending time with my friends that invited to join us, as we flowed chaotically through town, putting out a plastic candle-holder fire along the way. I watched my mind and let it all go with ease.
This wasn’t about having an agenda. This was about hanging out. I learned it from you, Jason.
I totally get how Jason liked hanging with his friends. They’re pretty cool, artists like him. I enjoyed just hanging and listening to the sweet and funny sharings about their memories of Jason and how he inspired them and continues to inspire them in their lives. I enjoyed hanging with my friends in our home after the walk, not needing to organize anything, just talking, hugging, eating, laughing, and a bit of crying together.
Jason and I had 17 years of great hanging out time together. He taught me how to play, how to tune into my creativity, how to be in the moment and see beauty everywhere. I wasn’t always a patient student; I had work to do , I was distracted, I didn’t know how to handle his intense energy when he was bored and had to find something creative to do. I chose Jason in this lifetime to teach me how to hang out. Our best hangout times when he was a teenager and wasn’t into spending much time or words with me was to show me his latest art and music, to drive together and listen to great music we both loved, to hang out in the hammocks, or to throw a ball around with no game rules. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with new friends during our visits to intentional communities, and I feel Jason with us.
It was always a joy to witness Jason’s joy hanging out with his friends, from his first playgroup to his Beverly kid commune with Katie, Jackie, Hayley, and Alex, his elementary/middle school school friends Dustin, Gus, and Noah, and moving on to new artist friends in Ipswich in 8th grade. Hanging with his friends the other night, it felt like Jason with there, and I felt the joy. It was so great to have Gus and his mom Kerry stop by before the walk started, and to see Audrey and Casey in their black dresses together. I enjoyed getting to know more of Jason’s friends, such as Aliey and Samille, during the walk. I jumped up and down seeing Dustin, just back from China, and Evan and Willis, who came to my house after working late and missing the walk. Jason always loved surprises, and so do I.
I’ve spent a lot of time hanging in Jason’s studio since he passed. I’ve noticed how the energy has shifted from grief to celebration over the past year. I hang out with his photos and art on the walls, which will be taken down soon to be put in storage for our upcoming journey. I notice how I am feeling more neutral about this, knowing that the physical form of Jason, his photos, and his framed art, is just one way of staying connected with him. I’m getting the message that I am really ready to move.
Jason smiles watching me hang out, following my passion. I like hanging with him anytime, anywhere.
Jason was a master at hanging out. He was present, in the moment, enjoying the beauty and creativity of that instant. I’m getting it, and I’m doing it so much more in my life since Jason passed.
I hung out with Jason and his friends during the candle-lit walk through Ipswich, crossing the river a few times, a beautiful procession of lit faces sharing fond memories of their dear friend. It was a gorgeous night but very windy. A few of us noticed how Jason liked playing with us, getting us to focus keeping our candles lit and laughing about it, just like the intense heat of his funeral ceremony. Jason liked fire. He needed more of it when he was in his body, and he’s got it now.
I noticed my mind wondering where we were going, when we were going to stop and share memories by the river, wondering if Jason’s younger friends really wanted us older generation there, wondering if I “should” be spending time with my friends that invited to join us, as we flowed chaotically through town, putting out a plastic candle-holder fire along the way. I watched my mind and let it all go with ease.
This wasn’t about having an agenda. This was about hanging out. I learned it from you, Jason.
I totally get how Jason liked hanging with his friends. They’re pretty cool, artists like him. I enjoyed just hanging and listening to the sweet and funny sharings about their memories of Jason and how he inspired them and continues to inspire them in their lives. I enjoyed hanging with my friends in our home after the walk, not needing to organize anything, just talking, hugging, eating, laughing, and a bit of crying together.
Jason and I had 17 years of great hanging out time together. He taught me how to play, how to tune into my creativity, how to be in the moment and see beauty everywhere. I wasn’t always a patient student; I had work to do , I was distracted, I didn’t know how to handle his intense energy when he was bored and had to find something creative to do. I chose Jason in this lifetime to teach me how to hang out. Our best hangout times when he was a teenager and wasn’t into spending much time or words with me was to show me his latest art and music, to drive together and listen to great music we both loved, to hang out in the hammocks, or to throw a ball around with no game rules. I’ve enjoyed hanging out with new friends during our visits to intentional communities, and I feel Jason with us.
It was always a joy to witness Jason’s joy hanging out with his friends, from his first playgroup to his Beverly kid commune with Katie, Jackie, Hayley, and Alex, his elementary/middle school school friends Dustin, Gus, and Noah, and moving on to new artist friends in Ipswich in 8th grade. Hanging with his friends the other night, it felt like Jason with there, and I felt the joy. It was so great to have Gus and his mom Kerry stop by before the walk started, and to see Audrey and Casey in their black dresses together. I enjoyed getting to know more of Jason’s friends, such as Aliey and Samille, during the walk. I jumped up and down seeing Dustin, just back from China, and Evan and Willis, who came to my house after working late and missing the walk. Jason always loved surprises, and so do I.
I’ve spent a lot of time hanging in Jason’s studio since he passed. I’ve noticed how the energy has shifted from grief to celebration over the past year. I hang out with his photos and art on the walls, which will be taken down soon to be put in storage for our upcoming journey. I notice how I am feeling more neutral about this, knowing that the physical form of Jason, his photos, and his framed art, is just one way of staying connected with him. I’m getting the message that I am really ready to move.
Jason smiles watching me hang out, following my passion. I like hanging with him anytime, anywhere.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Message 38 - Be the Observer
Today is one year since Jason’s passing. In his usual style, he gave me a creative anniversary gift.
I was in the water in Gloucester in Jason’s Cove, swimming in his ashes as I had done about a year ago. I had received a strong message from him a few months ago to release the rest of his ashes, to release attachment to his form. I decided to cheat and keep a small amount in one of his treasure boxes, the one with the coyote in the wild southwest colors. Family and a few friends were with us. I cried on the way, passing by the place in Essex that Chuck and I had always met to pick Jason up from each other. It felt so strange revisiting this day of passing, and I was determined to focus on the celebration of his passing into the light; that felt good to me.
I found myself watching the ashes swirl in the water. A year ago this was a powerful shamanic experience, feeling his energy in the ashes, letting it release the intensity of grief. This year it was different. I watched the ashes in interest. I observed the texture. I watched my emotions come up – missing him, wishing he hadn’t died, feeling the fatigue of so much grief over the past year, feeling the joy of having him in my life. The ashes, the emotions, they were all dust, they were all experiences that were what they were. No judgment, just observation.
I looked around Jason’s cove, feeling his presence. The feeling of presence wasn’t separate from me as it was in the past. He was watching as I was watching; we were the Observer together, there was no separation.
Observing the rose petals float to the far end of the marsh was felt so peaceful; it felt like Jason’s energy. He reminded me to just be and observe. I really got in that moment how Jason was most of his life. He knew how to be and observe. He was always connected to Source in this way. I connect to Jason by just being and observing.
My playfulness took over as other dear ones joined me to swim.
The sacred puja ceremony Chuck led after the swim brought me visions of understanding we are on this earth for a short time. Our energy, our spirit, our soul, lasts forever. Jason is with me in a bigger way than most earth-bounds; he is teaching me to think outside the box, to think outside the body, where it’s all at.
I am blessed to know that the best way to honor my dear son and spirit friend Jason is to be and observe without judgment. Everything has beauty; he certainly knew how to capture that in his photography.
As I swam today I observed the tall green blades of the marsh grass. It reminded me of what his friends Aliey, Samille, and Audrey wrote, the ones who have planned the candle-lit walk to the river we will have this evening:
“The world turns, the sun shines, the grass grows, the birds sing-all of these are simple things that we all know. We've always known them, and we always will.
A lot of people walk by a single blade of grass, without even thinking about the fact that it's there. But really, who would? No sane man would stop to greet a mere piece of grass, which could be plucked so easily from the ground.
Jason was a sane man, and let me tell you, he would stop to greet anybody and give them a hug. It didn't matter who they were, or what kind of a person they were, he was always there to hug, and to talk to. It didn't matter if he was jogging down the hallways of the school, ponytail flapping in the wind and a fantastic grin on his face, he could always stop for a moment and say hello; even to a blade of grass.
He was indefinitely in love with art. It didn't matter what form-whether it was musical, literate, visual, or any other form you could imagine, he loved it, and he lived it. He's absolutely famous in the area, and to some people even all over the world, who have viewed his work either in local shows, or on his DeviantArt account, which is http://plutonicfluf.deviantart.com/.
Just like grass, Jason was gone far too quickly, far too easily, and way before he had finished growing. You could ask just about any kid in town where they were when they heard the news on August 6, 2009. Ipswich, being such a small town, everyone knows almost everybody else. The community was rocked, and people from all over came to Jason's ceremony. The room was hot from humidity and grief, but no one minded at all. At the end, everyone received rose petals, and many still have them.
Here we are, a year later. A year of grief, forgiveness, growth, laughter, birthdays, graduations, pain, change, love, and so much more. A year of Jason. So many people have dreamt about him countless times, others have only gotten to see him once. Others haven't seen him in their dreams at all; instead, he's come to them while they're awake. He's still loving as much as he ever did, if not more. He's helped Samille rekindle her love for performing arts. He guided me, Aliey, through a horrendous panic attack during the MCAS; I don't know how I would have gotten through it if he hadn't been there holding my hand the whole time. I know he's visited countless others in dreams and more. Jason, you just coming to say hey has helped a ton of people get through everything, and thanks.
To celebrate the fantastic 17 years that we were blessed to spend with Jason, we're going on a stroll on the night of his passing. Whether you knew him very well or not, everyone is welcome. Please bring a candle, we're beginning at Audrey's house at 8pm and then walking downtown, and to either the Green Street Bridge, or the Ebsco Publishing Company Riverwalk, (we're still trying to decide which would be better,) where everyone will blow their candle, and say a memory of Jason and/or a prayer to him. Then, everyone's going back to Audrey's to share an evening of memories, love, and Jason.
You're amazing Jason. We've always known that, and we always will.”
I was in the water in Gloucester in Jason’s Cove, swimming in his ashes as I had done about a year ago. I had received a strong message from him a few months ago to release the rest of his ashes, to release attachment to his form. I decided to cheat and keep a small amount in one of his treasure boxes, the one with the coyote in the wild southwest colors. Family and a few friends were with us. I cried on the way, passing by the place in Essex that Chuck and I had always met to pick Jason up from each other. It felt so strange revisiting this day of passing, and I was determined to focus on the celebration of his passing into the light; that felt good to me.
I found myself watching the ashes swirl in the water. A year ago this was a powerful shamanic experience, feeling his energy in the ashes, letting it release the intensity of grief. This year it was different. I watched the ashes in interest. I observed the texture. I watched my emotions come up – missing him, wishing he hadn’t died, feeling the fatigue of so much grief over the past year, feeling the joy of having him in my life. The ashes, the emotions, they were all dust, they were all experiences that were what they were. No judgment, just observation.
I looked around Jason’s cove, feeling his presence. The feeling of presence wasn’t separate from me as it was in the past. He was watching as I was watching; we were the Observer together, there was no separation.
Observing the rose petals float to the far end of the marsh was felt so peaceful; it felt like Jason’s energy. He reminded me to just be and observe. I really got in that moment how Jason was most of his life. He knew how to be and observe. He was always connected to Source in this way. I connect to Jason by just being and observing.
My playfulness took over as other dear ones joined me to swim.
The sacred puja ceremony Chuck led after the swim brought me visions of understanding we are on this earth for a short time. Our energy, our spirit, our soul, lasts forever. Jason is with me in a bigger way than most earth-bounds; he is teaching me to think outside the box, to think outside the body, where it’s all at.
I am blessed to know that the best way to honor my dear son and spirit friend Jason is to be and observe without judgment. Everything has beauty; he certainly knew how to capture that in his photography.
As I swam today I observed the tall green blades of the marsh grass. It reminded me of what his friends Aliey, Samille, and Audrey wrote, the ones who have planned the candle-lit walk to the river we will have this evening:
“The world turns, the sun shines, the grass grows, the birds sing-all of these are simple things that we all know. We've always known them, and we always will.
A lot of people walk by a single blade of grass, without even thinking about the fact that it's there. But really, who would? No sane man would stop to greet a mere piece of grass, which could be plucked so easily from the ground.
Jason was a sane man, and let me tell you, he would stop to greet anybody and give them a hug. It didn't matter who they were, or what kind of a person they were, he was always there to hug, and to talk to. It didn't matter if he was jogging down the hallways of the school, ponytail flapping in the wind and a fantastic grin on his face, he could always stop for a moment and say hello; even to a blade of grass.
He was indefinitely in love with art. It didn't matter what form-whether it was musical, literate, visual, or any other form you could imagine, he loved it, and he lived it. He's absolutely famous in the area, and to some people even all over the world, who have viewed his work either in local shows, or on his DeviantArt account, which is http://plutonicfluf.deviantart.com/.
Just like grass, Jason was gone far too quickly, far too easily, and way before he had finished growing. You could ask just about any kid in town where they were when they heard the news on August 6, 2009. Ipswich, being such a small town, everyone knows almost everybody else. The community was rocked, and people from all over came to Jason's ceremony. The room was hot from humidity and grief, but no one minded at all. At the end, everyone received rose petals, and many still have them.
Here we are, a year later. A year of grief, forgiveness, growth, laughter, birthdays, graduations, pain, change, love, and so much more. A year of Jason. So many people have dreamt about him countless times, others have only gotten to see him once. Others haven't seen him in their dreams at all; instead, he's come to them while they're awake. He's still loving as much as he ever did, if not more. He's helped Samille rekindle her love for performing arts. He guided me, Aliey, through a horrendous panic attack during the MCAS; I don't know how I would have gotten through it if he hadn't been there holding my hand the whole time. I know he's visited countless others in dreams and more. Jason, you just coming to say hey has helped a ton of people get through everything, and thanks.
To celebrate the fantastic 17 years that we were blessed to spend with Jason, we're going on a stroll on the night of his passing. Whether you knew him very well or not, everyone is welcome. Please bring a candle, we're beginning at Audrey's house at 8pm and then walking downtown, and to either the Green Street Bridge, or the Ebsco Publishing Company Riverwalk, (we're still trying to decide which would be better,) where everyone will blow their candle, and say a memory of Jason and/or a prayer to him. Then, everyone's going back to Audrey's to share an evening of memories, love, and Jason.
You're amazing Jason. We've always known that, and we always will.”
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