There we were. Looking up into the night sky, remembering our sweet friend, Cascade, who had died two days earlier, on the morning of the June Full Moon. In her final exit, as with so many of her entrances, Cas had a soft, easy touch and an excellent sense of timing. I wouldn't see her for months, even years, at a time. And then, there would be those twinkling eyes smiling at me from the middle of some grocery store aisle or just there on a city sidewalk. But whatever the location, she would invariably appear in the middle of an otherwise difficult day - just when I really needed the joy and encouragement she always seemed to carry with her.
CREATING SPACE
Now that Cas was gone, a bunch of her friends and family members were hanging around the house with her husband Dave. He was trying hard to be brave, and we were all trying equally hard to be helpful and hopeful in the face of her seemingly senseless death from cancer. Normally we would have stayed inside their cool house on such a hot night. But it was clearly a night to be outdoors honoring our dead sister's deep love for Mother Earth. So we strolled outside, leaving the house in ones and twos, taking the path out to where her ashes would be scattered later, in her favorite oak grove, a couple of hundred yards from the house. As we walked, the last drops of daylight soaked through the branches of the Spanish Oaks and cedar trees overhead. When we got to the grove, we tried to light a large Mexican candle someone had placed in the middle of a circle of stones. But it wouldn't stay lit; the breezes came too strong and too often to let the flame live.
ASKING QUESTIONS
That didn't stop us from drumming, chanting, listening to the sound of the sun sinking into the horizon, watching the light reflect from each other's eyes in the gathering darkness. Someone had brought a flute, someone else two Brazilian rainsticks and a guitar. Only one person had a handkerchief, but nobody needed it. For during the time we sat in that circle together, we were strong and brave, connected as we were by the total mystery of such an unkind death. The questions were mostly unspoken, lurking in the backs of our heads: Why Cas? Why one so classy, so young, so strong for so long? Why would Death want to come claim someone so vibrant, so talented, with a teenage daughter and husband who loved her so deeply?
The Big Questions don't really seem to go away or get solved by addressing them to God/dess. But it does seem that engaging in sacred rituals can help us mortals find some measure of peace in the presence of the great mysteries, can help us remember that there is much more to the histories of our lives than what we can measure with our eyes, account for with our spreadsheets, organized within the boundaries of our appointment books. Shared rituals seem especially helpful when a difficult life passage needs to be maneuvered by folks who would otherwise feel ill-equipped to handle their thoughts and feelings.
SHARING ECHOES
So, there we were. A score of middle-aging Flower Children and several of our teenaged charges - singing, talking, listening, praying and swaying for a surprisingly short hour. Then suddenly, Jane, one of Cascade's best friends, spotted the Moon making her grand entrance above a nearby pasture. One by one, we stopped singing and drumming and drifted over to where Jane stood transfixed. By the time we'd all gotten to the clearing, even the youngest of the children was quiet. Everyone had run out of words. The only thing that made sense was to stand there in total silence, facing the moon, asking our questions, feeling the evening breezes, embracing each other and our memories of Cascade.
One of our chantsongs from earlier in the evening had travelled a quarter of a million miles, echoed off the face of the moon and came back to reflect in my inner ear:
"Sister is gone, but She's still here.
Sister is gone, but She's still here.
The wind is blowing through our tears.
Sister is gone, but She's still here.
Sister is gone, but the Moon still rise.
Sister is gone, but the Moon still rise.
Sister's shining through our eyes.
Sister is gone, but the Moon still rise..."
Rudi
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