A friend lays upon her bed, in and out of consciousness, drifting towards death. Sisters take turns to sit with her and read, their voices low, like a mantra, reciting the river of non-stop Facebook messages, expressions of deep love, reverence and respect. Goodbyes. Words to carry her soul to the other side.
Another friend is catapulted into capitulation and heartbreak upon news of her daughter's recent abortion and a line of text messages that went awry.
Irene recovers from her daughter's death, still sickened with the memory of a liver transplant that couldn't happen in time.
Alexandra departs on a cross country road trip with her husband who is in the throes of brain cancer.
Judith struggles minute to minute with nicotine withdrawal. She prays that tossing cigarettes at 75 will make a difference in the number of sunsets she will witness.
Kathryn travels from the east coast to Montana to visit relatives she hasn't seen in decades. She arrives and falls ill as her great-Aunt has a stroke.
Ellen, her husband, kids and horses, are kicked off their farm that's falling into foreclosure.
I laid in bed last night and pieced these sister-tales together. There are brother-tales too: motorcycle accidents, addiction blow-outs, restraining orders against girlfriends, lymphoma battles.
How to keep peace in these tumultuous times? Every friend is me, as I am her. This summer, predicted to be "down the rabbit hole," took such a turn for me as well. It took six weeks of trauma before I gathered forces and took refuge on a soul sister's land. Glad to have a trailer. The ability to move. I rested and focused on spirit; supported friends who could not extricate themselves from the morass. And I stayed true to my soul, polishing words like the finest silver.
It is not over. Not by a long shot. We and the planet are in the midst of a reckoning; energetic havoc that must be ... what? ridden out? tai chi ed around? I'm watching with vital curiosity. Movement is seen as signs. What was I thinking the moment I stumbled on that walk? Because that's one way spirit gets my attention.
Last night Carole and I sat at her table, sipped wine and jabbered away. She suddenly looked up and said, "It's ready!" She had drawn a hot bath for me; added rose petal bubble bath. WOW! We laughed as I told her no one had done that since a Taos-lover years ago, sun's final blush on his soft adobe walls. I lowered into those bubbles, a queen.
What to do as chaos coalesces? Chris, Carole's husband, is baking peach pies. Carole is meeting with a homeopathy patient. I'm typing away, snickering at a kitten who teeter-tooters between love, light and Cujo. Live the soul; keep moving forward. One can not move backwards or white-knuckle the present and not pay a price in exhaustion and confusion. Cotton up to conscious comrades.
Run bubble baths for one another.