Sitting with the Questions
When time is short … Plus a peek at new works-in-progress
Dear Ones,
As I recover from a “cardiac event” that happened at the end of April, I find myself being slow to assign meaning to it. Instead, I’m sitting with it, wondering about it, letting it work on me. I’m considering the physical body, with all its miracles and limitations. I’m contemplating the metaphorical heart, a significant symbol that crosses centuries and cultures in all the arts and countless spiritual paths. Humans are such meaning-making creatures! But I find myself, these days, a bit more interested in the questions than in the answers.
It’s a bit unsettling to be told by health professionals that “Quite frankly, we’re puzzled” when contradictory test results came back after my near-heart attack. It reminds me that uncertainty always walks with us as a silent friend, even when we’d rather have solid, black-and-white answers. Every time I’ve had a brush with Lady Death, I’m reminded of all the clichés: that life is precious, the mundane is actually a miracle, don’t sweat the small stuff, and above all — don’t wait to tell the people you love how much they mean to you.
Since coming home from the hospital, I’ve been spending time with beloveds, in person and electronically. I’ve been watching bunnies hop by the path in front of my window. I’m welcoming the rain and admiring the Spanish lavender bloom in my little garden. I love watching sword ferns unfurl and the tender, twisting curls of columbines. I’m amazed at how prolific and happy my chives are, no matter how many times I cut them back. They’ll season my meals all summer long.
Besides the sweet pleasure of watching the flowers grow, I found a fire rekindled in my belly (or perhaps in my metaphorical heart!) for the Sacred Wheel Oracle deck. It’s a project I’ve been working on for nearly a decade. I haven’t worked on it consistently; it’s something I’ve picked up and put down, again and again. But I ask myself another one of those cliché-ridden questions: What would you do with your time if you knew it was short? Part of the answer is: I want to finish that deck and the book that goes with it. I think it’s some of the best work I’ve ever done, and I’d like to get it out into the world before I go.
Because the truth is, of course, that our time is always short. We never know when our story will end. It may end right in the middle, without all the plot lines neatly tied up. I’m still a little stunned that I have already lived longer than my mother, who died at age 64, and several close friends who never lived to see 70. I mourn the death of my son Jake, who died at age 15, and my goddess-daughter Steph, who died at age 32. Too young. Too young.
It’s a good thing, to be reminded from time to time, that we never know just when our story will end, at least this time around. Perhaps it’s one of the gifts of aging to be able to see when we are coming closer to our personal dark moon phase, the time of dying and composting that will nourish whatever emerges in the next turning of the Wheel.
What a gift to be 73 years old and to still have enough health and energy (as limited as they seem to be at times!) to love and be loved, to create, to make a contribution to the community, to sit and watch raindrops sparkle on soft pink petals.
In the two weeks since I’ve been home from the hospital, I finished line drawings for four cards in the oracle deck and made thumbnail sketches of several more. I started on the color comps for them, too. I’m thrilled! I’ll share these works-in-progress with you below.
Here’s an excerpt from the Sacred Wheel book I wrote during the pandemic. It is part of the Voice of the Old One, who presides over the season of All Hallows and the mysteries of old age and death. The imagery was largely inspired by the slow dying experience of my sister-friend Nora Cedarwind.
When a person suspects their time might be short, their priorities become quite simple. Finish that painting, that poem, that song; forgive him, and her, and that one too. Spend time with the ones you love. Visit the woods or the water’s edge every day, as long as you can. While there, be sure to pick up stones, then give them away. Sing to the Blessed Mother. Light a candle and breathe a prayer for the wild and holy earth, for the benefit of all beings. Be present to the beauty that surrounds you. Every day is a gift of grace.
On your deathbed, when you have run out of time and no more gardens will be tended, no more children will be raised, no more songs will be sung, no more marches will be organized, and no more fires will be kindled — when that time comes, and you are poised to cross the threshold into the Great Unknown — all that matters is love. The fierce love you have had for the sacred earth, for your friends and family and lovers, and the love that has flowed back to you in return. Your overflowing heart has been cracked open, mended, and broken open again. All that matters is love.
Works-in-Progress: New Cards from the Sacred Wheel Oracle
I’ve written a bit about my Sacred Wheel Oracle before. You may remember that it consists of eight suits that correspond to the Wheel of the Year, the lunar phases, and life stages from infancy to old age.