Dear Deena: This is an elegy, a lamentation, a manifesto, a Dharma talk. My deepest condolences. and my deep admiration for following the truth of your mind and heart.
Thank you, Louise, I am so moved by what you say. A lamentation. Yes. For all of us, involved unwittingly in suicide because we are involved in ecocide which is matricide and so on. Thank you again.
Thank you and her death feels like a blow to the community of greater consequence than my personal loss although that is real. The need to live differently is real and urgent. You know this, I know.
Dear one, Deena, ok, will paste this in as you suggest, tho how to respond to your heart 's opening and wrenching words? all I dare to offer is a poem that is in my book, "It Is Still Beautiful To Hear The Heart Beat," and place it here with a gentle embrace for your friend’s departure, and for us each, and love to you always, margo
CHORUS of ONE
This is the summer of : the friend who made her last journey
to Paris : take me for rides she pled, and I did.
Stopped all food and all water after, so the brain could close
all its curtains, all its mouths and breaths. And it did.
Summer too of the friend of illuminations who used to high-jump
from standing, long color brushes in hand in front of her murals
to lift her imagination higher, and higher — whispered
on her August birthday : this cancer is very intelligent, it teaches us
to love one another more. And her head, weighted with garlands
and a little more wisdom than the rest of us dared — bent down.
Summer too of : the shining wife of a soldier, she grew half her size —
thinning, and thinning — she was what every fighter wished,
the wife to clean it all for him. She would not fatten again, she
mouthed, loud enough only for the candlenut tree in their jungle
garden to hear her hands. A candlenut can be opened for its oil
that burns brighter than any lamp — to cleanse — it’s known how
ancients gathered its small gifts, fallen from the arms of its massive groves —
broken open, they lit the darkest island nights while voices chanted myths:
mouths, on a single stalk.
And, where the wild orchid rises and withers her tiny many mouths
along a single stalk — a chorus of voices howled for any god at
all — refugee breaths in a wide deserted van, one border away
— no whispers left — but wars.
~
But this — is the summer of a country riven —
cracks no gold can fill or mend — but revolutions —
Summer still — of children sickened by that ill that
will not fade — of body after black body choked while
senators and jailers lunch — summer of a rising — standing.
My friend who belongs to as many past and future lives
I'm very sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, for you, and for what her life and healing brought to the world. The culture is toxic. It corrupts and infects everything, Yet Earth cares for and mourns her children, as Stan Rushworth said somewhere. The loss of human life is as terrible as the loss of the forest. We are one, truly. Thank you for pointing the way for us with such wisdom and heart.
Thank you, Deena, for this heart-cracked-open writing. You and I share the memory of another suicide of a dear friend here in Ontario in 2016... The mystery of her choice at that time still lingers in the hearts and minds of those who loved her. That said, I deeply appreciate the way you tuck such specific events into the larger earth-story, thus preventing us from maintaining a myopic viewpoint about a local event, but rather opening our hearts to feel the weighted grief of how such tragedies are part of a much larger unravelling.
Dear Deena, My deep sympathy for the loss of your friend. You bring her to us and honor her with compassion and care, for her, for us, for Mother Earth. You make an all-important distinction: our culture, not our species, is responsible for ecocide. This means that beWILDerment can, indeed, bring healing, restoration. Max Liboiron, an Indigenous scientist, defines Land as 'the unique entity that is the combined living spirit of plants, animals, humans, histories, and events.' A bow of gratitude, Janko
I'm heartbroken to hear of our loss, your friend. And I'm deeply moved by your meditation that opens to all the unknowing suicide brings. Especially the word "beWILDering" that for me asks us to come closer to the nature we are part of, though we forget at our great peril, and must remember. Full enfolding hugs to you, dear heart.
Dear Deena: This is an elegy, a lamentation, a manifesto, a Dharma talk. My deepest condolences. and my deep admiration for following the truth of your mind and heart.
Thank you, Louise, I am so moved by what you say. A lamentation. Yes. For all of us, involved unwittingly in suicide because we are involved in ecocide which is matricide and so on. Thank you again.
First, I am so sorry to hear of your friend's death. Second, this is a poem to the world on how to live, thank you.
Thank you and her death feels like a blow to the community of greater consequence than my personal loss although that is real. The need to live differently is real and urgent. You know this, I know.
I’m so sorry. When we have no answers, it can be so difficult to understand. Thank you for sharing your whole, unedited heart.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
Yes and thank you but having written this, I understand it is our loss. Not only because she was a healer, but because ….
Dear one, Deena, ok, will paste this in as you suggest, tho how to respond to your heart 's opening and wrenching words? all I dare to offer is a poem that is in my book, "It Is Still Beautiful To Hear The Heart Beat," and place it here with a gentle embrace for your friend’s departure, and for us each, and love to you always, margo
CHORUS of ONE
This is the summer of : the friend who made her last journey
to Paris : take me for rides she pled, and I did.
Stopped all food and all water after, so the brain could close
all its curtains, all its mouths and breaths. And it did.
Summer too of the friend of illuminations who used to high-jump
from standing, long color brushes in hand in front of her murals
to lift her imagination higher, and higher — whispered
on her August birthday : this cancer is very intelligent, it teaches us
to love one another more. And her head, weighted with garlands
and a little more wisdom than the rest of us dared — bent down.
Summer too of : the shining wife of a soldier, she grew half her size —
thinning, and thinning — she was what every fighter wished,
the wife to clean it all for him. She would not fatten again, she
mouthed, loud enough only for the candlenut tree in their jungle
garden to hear her hands. A candlenut can be opened for its oil
that burns brighter than any lamp — to cleanse — it’s known how
ancients gathered its small gifts, fallen from the arms of its massive groves —
broken open, they lit the darkest island nights while voices chanted myths:
mouths, on a single stalk.
And, where the wild orchid rises and withers her tiny many mouths
along a single stalk — a chorus of voices howled for any god at
all — refugee breaths in a wide deserted van, one border away
— no whispers left — but wars.
~
But this — is the summer of a country riven —
cracks no gold can fill or mend — but revolutions —
Summer still — of children sickened by that ill that
will not fade — of body after black body choked while
senators and jailers lunch — summer of a rising — standing.
My friend who belongs to as many past and future lives
as all the wild orchids have mouths — calls to me
(—soul-friend, grandmother, priest— )
I am despondent, she whispers.
My culture died, and no one came to the funeral.
Chorus of one, so softly — only
the night moths hear —
~
(Margo Berdeshevsky)
Thank-you! A deep bow of gratitude for your soul filled insights.
I'm very sorry to hear about the loss of your friend, for you, and for what her life and healing brought to the world. The culture is toxic. It corrupts and infects everything, Yet Earth cares for and mourns her children, as Stan Rushworth said somewhere. The loss of human life is as terrible as the loss of the forest. We are one, truly. Thank you for pointing the way for us with such wisdom and heart.
Thank you, Deena, for this heart-cracked-open writing. You and I share the memory of another suicide of a dear friend here in Ontario in 2016... The mystery of her choice at that time still lingers in the hearts and minds of those who loved her. That said, I deeply appreciate the way you tuck such specific events into the larger earth-story, thus preventing us from maintaining a myopic viewpoint about a local event, but rather opening our hearts to feel the weighted grief of how such tragedies are part of a much larger unravelling.
Dear Deena, My deep sympathy for the loss of your friend. You bring her to us and honor her with compassion and care, for her, for us, for Mother Earth. You make an all-important distinction: our culture, not our species, is responsible for ecocide. This means that beWILDerment can, indeed, bring healing, restoration. Max Liboiron, an Indigenous scientist, defines Land as 'the unique entity that is the combined living spirit of plants, animals, humans, histories, and events.' A bow of gratitude, Janko
Dearest Deena,
I'm heartbroken to hear of our loss, your friend. And I'm deeply moved by your meditation that opens to all the unknowing suicide brings. Especially the word "beWILDering" that for me asks us to come closer to the nature we are part of, though we forget at our great peril, and must remember. Full enfolding hugs to you, dear heart.