September 2020

I love you!

I carry September’s eternal love song with me throughout the year. Peter and my friendship blossomed into a full flowering commitment fifty years ago during this sacred month of endings and beginnings. Beginnings and endings bending into a circle leave endless ripples that interlock.

I’m looking forward to celebrating this sixth anniversary of Peter’s death on September 25. While holding my hand, his last words to me were “I love you.” Love never dies.

Because of the deep symbolism, meaningful associations and profound memories of this most beautiful month, let us in our own quiet way celebrate every precious day. The world is hurting. We need to come together in a collective consciousness to help in the healing process.

We celebrate death because we pay tribute to lives well lived. Peter’s long life was extraordinarily happy. A life well worth remembering.

September has proven to be the perfect time and season for Peter to die. We were outside in the fresh air every day. Other than a one-night visit to the Westerly hospital, we spent time in the garden, Peter continued to paint, we saw friends and family. His life proved to be so tender and sweet close to the bone. During the dying process Peter was full of love and gratitude, and it was so moving to be able to experience his character on full display all day and all night. As he approached the end of his earthly journey, Peter was ready to begin his adventure in the spirit realm. Living one world at a time with vigor until his body dictated his timing of departure, he understood the precariousness of life’s time arc.

All of life is impermanent. Accepting the inevitability of the aging process allows us to live with gusto and enthusiasm right to the end. His love of life was infectious. When anyone had a fun idea of something we could do, Peter chimed back, “I’m in favor!” Then he rhythmically lifted up both thumbs—a joy to behold. Ta-da! His grin was intimate, flirtatious and mischievous. I’ve never known anyone as utterly charming, playful or full of childlike wonder.

Peter, indeed, was the naughty rabbit. I thank heavens for Peter’s beautiful, adorable mother Miriam. Because he was the “baby” of four, he was continuously doted on. In the company of a lovely feminine lady, he was influenced by her acts of kindness, grace and unconditional love. His mother loved to have a good time and showed him the way.

Peter hit the jackpot with his mother and, as a result, spread his genetic inheritance and environmental good fortune far and wide. While he loved many people throughout his astonishingly beautiful time on earth, I am truly the love of his life. He cherishes me from on high.

Peter, late in life, became a mentor to our good friend Matt. Perhaps Matt created with Peter the father-son bonding and meeting of hearts he never had with his biological father. At Peter’s celebration of life, Matt, a West Point graduate and dedicated military officer devoted to service and country, had me light a candle. An eternal flame. The bugler played taps. Then Matt whispered solemn words, and in a hushed silence, he handled me the American flag he so lovingly had folded to honor Peter’s service in World War II.

Arm in arm, we walked out of the La Grua cultural center into a fresh, crisp, sparkling October afternoon, following the bagpipers. Together, we both felt Peter’s loving presence. Peter was now out of body. For those fleeting soulful moments of silence, I was also in a timeless, spacious, sacred realm.

We were going to meet up with the bugler and bagpipers at the Inn at Stonington. They all were members of the New York City police and played at Peter’s annual meetings for the Riot Relief Fund, an organization that gave money to the police and fire departments after the draft riots of July 1863. They came to honor their friend Peter, to play for him with tender respect and admiration.

While they were enjoying sandwiches and Coors Light at the bar, Matt urged me to sit with him on a sofa in the living room to open a gift. I didn’t want to come down to earth. Here, we are time bound. I was still floating on invisible wings. Being seated seemed heavy. Thump. “Open Presents Slowly” is one of my essays. Matt was right to be next to me as I opened his present. I discovered a gold ribbon bracelet with a gold oval of Saint Peter. Symbolically, he is inviting us to our next world at the appropriate time. Our deep love for Peter moved both of us beyond tears.

I now needed to move onward and upward, with Peter keeping his physical distance. His ashes are at sea in the breakwater behind the inn; our view from the sofa. I was weak-kneed. I remember how I felt as Matt fastened the clasp of the delicate gold chain. We will always be together, forever. We will never leave each other. No matter what form is required for continuous communication and connection, we will figure it out. We will meet on whatever playing field is available to us. There is a spirit realm. The soul is our essence and lives eternally.

Literal-minded people don’t believe in the mystery. Peter and I do, in spades. We’re romantics who believe in love. We have faithfully experienced the tender devotion of one human being touching the heart, soul and body of another. I know I am being watched over and guided by Peter’s spirit. This intuition is beyond ordinary language. Trust me.

I have a great deal of hope in the future. Our fragile life depends on each one of us to be part of the solutions.

Someone once said coincidences are God’s way of getting our attention. Life is short, art is long. Peter’s acute awareness of his time’s limits on earth intensified his joy. “It’s wise to seize the day.” Carpe diem.

A few hours after writing this, I paused to open Grace Notes: A Book of Daily Meditations. On August 29, 1990, thirty years ago, I quoted Horace: “Seize the day, put no trust in the morrow!” The end of my first Grace Note is “You will never know tomorrow. Carpe diem. Carpe momentum.”

Peter lived by his motto, “Carpe momentum.” Seize the moment. By breathing in the living present, his presence was astonishingly thoughtful. When I feel him, he is feeling me.

Years ago, we were living at the inn for a year. One thing leads to another. After Peter’s knee surgery, we renovated our cottage. One evening during “wine and cheese” at the bar, we met Lisa, who has the voice of an angel and bursts into song as naturally as a bird sings at dawn. Peter asked her if she could sing “I’ll Be Seeing You.” Tears flowed gently from his smiling eyes.

I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day and through
In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children's carousel
The chestnut trees
The wishing well

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you

Peter and I also love the song “Try to Remember.” As we move forward into each precious new September day, I am freshly inspired to remember because “Deep in December it's nice to remember … Without the hurt the heart is hollow. Deep in December, it's nice to remember the fire of September that made us mellow.”

Hum or sing the tune from the mountaintop, the wondrous words about this most beautiful month. Now is the time for us to spread our wings. When we do anything collectively, the energy is contagious. We can let all of our light illuminate the darkness. We are earth stars. Let’s together let our light so shine. It is Aristotle whose wise words remind us we are what we do every day. This September song can prove to have a powerful glow.

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow.

To remember is to think again. By remembering our earlier, younger days, we can be greatly rewarded by all the positive influence that led us along our path to greater love, truth, freedom and light. United, we are strong. Let’s collectively claim the word of the month of September 2020 as remember.

Try to remember what rights we have now, one hundred years after women were allowed to vote. Nothing is automatic. Each of us, as citizens of the United States, has a moral duty to vote. As Aristotle taught us, we should do what is right, without needing laws to enforce us to behave ethically.

Vote! Vote early. Request your mail-in ballot at your local town hall now. Don’t leave anything to chance. Voting is expressing our power in our fragile democracy. We are in the throes of a life-threatening Covid-19 virus. Voting by mail is safe. The post office can handle the flood of mail-in ballots during this health crisis. They have proven their capability year after year, especially during December’s holiday increases in volume. Yes, the Postal Service is under attack; we have experienced mail delays. Our national election depends on the service of the post office in order to have us safely vote by mail.

Choose a voting plan and act deliberately, now. Trust the integrity of the postal workers. Because of a slowdown, the sooner you send in or drop off your ballot, the better.

We all depend on the sending and receiving of mail. Think of all those people who count on timely delivery of their prescription medications, especially vital in rural areas without pharmacies. Years from now, our children and grandchildren will ask us, “What did you do?” We have to ask ourselves now, what can we do?

We can support the Postal Service.

I have a deep, longstanding love of the Postal Service. I wrote my first letter to a friend and mailed it at age five. I’m an avid collector of stamps to use on letters, postcards and packages. It takes no extra time, energy or money to select stamps that are pretty, have an important message, honor a worthy leader or simply make us smile. I have a box full of postcards with booster stamps to increase the postage cost over the years. Chris, our local postmaster, told me it was appropriate to use our old stamps. He assured me this will not delay the time to process a postcard or letter that has many stamps, whether sorted by a human or a machine.

We support the post office when we use it to send letters, postcards and packages. Just imagine my sending a love letter to a friend in Hawaii for the cost of a mere 55 cents. As I write in Gift of a Letter, a letter (or postcard) is a gift you give yourself. Open a drawer, find some notecards or stationery, fill an old fountain pen with fresh ink, and send loving words to someone you’re thinking about. Just the sheer anticipation of how meaningful this gesture will be to your friend is inspiration enough. Act. Ink it up.

Remember when we communicated by sending letters in the mail? My favorite form of writing, as you well know, is letters. There is an immediacy, an intimacy when you write to a specific person.

Some of you have read Vincent van Gogh’s letters to his brother Theo. I find them especially moving. They inform me about his art, and what his paintings mean to his life. We learn of Tolstoy’s influence on van Gogh. “Tolstoy,” Vincent wrote to Theo, “suggests that whatever may happen in the way of a violent revolution, there will also be a private and secret revolution in man. From this there will be born a new religion—or rather something entirely new, for which we do not have a name. It will give comfort, and make life possible, in the way that Christianity once did.”

Not successful as an evangelist, van Gogh was drawn to art as a way to reach, to get through to us. Now, 130 years since he died, in museums around the world, people are transfixed by his art. A life-changing perspective of the meaning behind his work can be discerned in the book Van Gogh and God: A Creative Spiritual Quest, by Cliff Edwards. In a section called “Religious Transformation” is a letter van Gogh wrote to Theo on April 3, 1878, at the dawn of his new creed:

If only we try to live sincerely, it will go well with us, even though we are certain to experience real sorrow, and great disappointments, and shall also probably commit great errors and do wrong things; but it certainly is true, that it is better to be high-spirited, even though one makes more mistakes, than to be narrow-minded and overprudent. It is good to love many things, for therein lies true strength; whosoever loves much, performs and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.

I’d sent a copy of this amazing book to Kerri, who believes van Gogh is a saint. I agree. We had a deliciously flavorful, abundant phone conversation about van Gogh: “Alexandra, he painted with his thumb! You try to paint a sunflower with your thumb!”

“It is good to love many things, for therein lies true strength; whosoever loves much, performs and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.” Amen!