Reclaimed by the Light

After long negotiations with my computer, here's yesterday's graduation card:

Today I created a very nice party for Tim's extended family,  to celebrate Father's Day with the relatives visiting from PA and FL, from his 93 year old Dad to a 2 year old grand-nephew... along with the parents of Tim Jr's fiancee Emily, and Alice's boyfriend Matthew... all of whom are stellar company with whom to spend a day.  We had it in the church Social Hall, since it's accessible, has everything we need, and is more suited than our home to numbers greater than 3.

Unfortunately, when we got home, Tim found an email announcing that his longtime friend Robin died this morning. She and husband John live in southern Missouri, and we visited them one early November a few years back.  They took us to see the largest Burr Oak in Missouri -- maybe anywhere, for all I know.  It was magnificent, and I was thinking of it only this morning.  Several of the people in my life who have died have "sent" me something from nature to remember them by, and I like to think that perhaps the magnificent oak... an image of the World Tree if ever there was one... sent out a message via its roots that it's friend Robin had crossed into the spirit world. My heart goes out especially to John Quint, whose life was so fully and joyously entwined with Robin's... and to Tim, for whom she was a touchstone to the deepest meanings of life and sacredness.

Here are a couple of photos of them from that visit a few years ago, and one of the Burr Oak.  Tim and Robin are both wearing garments that she hand-died, hers using rich indigo dyes, and his created with a petroglyph technique she uses.

The first photo of the tree shows Tim, John and Robin at its base.

This view of the tree is particularly powerful to me because of the activity in the distance which told a powerful wordless story: a field, a combine, an emergency vehicle.  The tree has seen humans passing by, and has witnessed human tragedy, and the seasonal changes of the natural world.  The road takes a little jog around it, as if to honor the fact that roads are but frail, man-made things which should bow (as we see with every pothole) to the majesty of nature. (Seek out Ursula LeGuin's story "The Direction of the Road," which is my favorite piece of writing.  Or invite me to read it aloud to you!)

Safe passage back to the Light, Robin.  Those you have touched as a friend, a nurse, an artist, a wise woman, are richer for your presence among us.  Safe healing, John and Tim, and all Robin's family and friends.  Blessed be.