This time of year is like a portal. From the frenzied energy of summer, where plants and animals play out their life cycles of output, to summer vacations and tending gardens…to the transition to falling leaves, darkening mornings nudging the wearing of warm socks and layers…to the slow, yet deliberate move into dormancy. To quieting down. To introspection. The coming into the landscape of inner worlds…
For many humans throughout time, this season change comes with a time of reverence and honoring of the dead. The Aztec, Toltec and Mayans set aside a month to celebrate the dead thousands of years before colonialism. All Hallow’s Eve and All Saints Day originated from an ancient Celtic festival called “Samhain” over 2,000 years ago. It is believed that the boundary between the living and the dead is blurred during this time – the veil between the earthly plane and the spiritual world is thin.
In my personal experience, my first deep encounter with death arrived this time of year. My dad was killed by a drunk driver while he was on the job delivering produce on October 30th, 2001. I was 12 and in 7th grade. A sudden severing that has, put simply, defined me.
I remember telling my family I wanted to go to school the next day, it was Halloween. I wanted things to be normal. In first period science class, my teacher was dressed up as a truck driver (and my mind went to: my dad drove a produce truck). And his costumed truck said “Mac” on the front (and my mind went to: that’s the name of our late family dog and short for my last name McClintock). As the class went on, I remember feeling heat build, embarrassment build, do others know? Are they looking at me? Is this some sort of sick joke? The grief went from a simmer to an all out rolling boil inside of me as the shock of the loss began to sink in as reality and I realized…I can’t be here. I sat through the rest of class holding back the desire to run out, cry and wail – so self-conscious of how everyone would see me. I went home after that class and didn’t go back for several weeks.
Today, when I reflect back on that moment and the years following – being an emotionally under-resourced teenager navigating the loss of their stable parent and being cared for by emotionally under-resourced adults. The embarrassment of having to explain where your dad was – to parents in volleyball carpools, to teachers, to new friends. Not being able to do it without crying. It made people uncomfortable. Best to appear strong and over it. To “sunshine” one’s way through the grief. See the silver linings. Tears well when I think of this suppression and I give that young person a big hug.
It wasn’t until college, when my high school friend overdosed on October 30th 2008, that I was strongly invited to meet my grief again. Insomnia. Spontaneous solo night hikes. Binge drinking. Binge eating. The ripening of something that needed attention.
During college, I was introduced to Buddhism. I began looking inward. I then moved to Montana for grad school. I began to understand myself in nature. I began to intuitively process the unmetabolized grief of losing my dad and friend through ritual.
My dad spent a chunk of time in his 20s in Oaxaca as a dirt bagging surfer. It is one of my family’s favorite character narratives – as he ran out of money, and had to accept help from a Mexican family to eat and eventually get back home to California. He loved everything about Mexico. Since he died at the same time as the annual Dia de los Muertos celebrations in Mexico, I’ve naturally gravitated to this holiday. I began making altars. I cried. I shared. And over the years that led to sharing this time with others, to hosting Day of the Dead potlucks and inviting others to contribute to a shared altar and remember their beloveds too.
Four years ago, I woke up struck that my dad’s artwork wasn’t archived. I cataloged all of his art and made him a website. A hard year may mean a day of running in the mountains on his death day. All of these actions have come from an unspoken internal place. As I began to be more intimate with my internal landscape through meditation, accepting support, working with dreams, writing, time in nature, psychedelics, movement…I can see now that I am tapping into my own well for healing. Listening to my heart-mind-body and its affinities towards certain things. The grief process is individual. It’s spiraling. Looking more like a tangled, stretched-out slinky, than linear. Even 22 years later, I still sometimes hit the edges that push me into a limbic trance. I now allow myself to be in the darkness when it comes. Abiding and moving through it. Still sucks though.
I offer this rawness, while the veil is thin, because I know that each person has their own deep relationship with loss and grief. Individually and collectively. And right now there is a great loss of human life and profound collective heartbreak.
In this darkness, Deborah Eden Tull, engaged dharma teacher and author offers us these potent words:
Honoring the darkness in all of us,
Madison/Sokukai. (Words and Collages).
Schedule October 23-29
Zenho out of town until 11/3 or so.
Monday: 6:30 AM ZAZEN at the Teahouse, Sokukai opening.
Tuesday: 6:30 AM ZAZEN at the Teahouse, Sokukai opening.
Wednesday: 6:30 AM ZAZEN at the Teahouse, Andy opening.
Thursday: 6:30 AM, ZAZEN and DOKUSAN at the Teahouse with ISSAN SENSEI
Friday: 6:30 AM, ZAZEN at the Teahouse, Mugen opening.
Please remember: ZAZENKAI and COUNCIL: DECEMBER 1,2 & 3.
Noah’s Poem:
I awoke to the laughter of birds this morning
Snuggled tightly into my tent
They were out playing
Looping around in their joy
As the World Mind
Looped around this ancient
Project of Projection
Of “isms” and schisms and “ists” and fists and
Dizzying swirls
And
Points of view
That are
Not
You
No Gate Zen Center 