If you read my previous post about lessons gleaned from an exploding Nutribullet, you will appreciate how the Universe upped the ante yesterday.
I spent the night on Bainbridge Island so I could wake up and help my Father begin the process of transferring decades of transactional knowledge ( Accounts, passwords, keys, and codes, bills, all of it) from his head and computer into a document that we called: “Good Info To Have.” He’s got Lung Cancer and nobody else knows where anything is.
I’m the only one in my family who believes that death is actually when the fun starts, so I’m the perfect person to manage the process, because I can stay out of story and stay matter of fact. My Mother, on the other hand, believes that we’re “six dollars worth of chemicals and when we die, it’s lights out, and back we go into the earth.” After she saw the movie Coco, she amended that to include: “And we live on the memories of others.” So her default state these days is basically Eeyore on Crack, and even if I meditated until my face fell off, eventually I’ll snap.
It was already a day fraught with emotion. On the one hand, there’s my Dad, an oak of a man with his clothes hanging off him, his once booming voice barely more than a whisper, and on the other end of the spectrum, my only son is getting ready to graduate from high school. Emotions these days are like balloons: When they come my way, I bat them back into the air. Not now. But then with this new “spiritual bushwacking” hobby I’ve taken up, combined with giving up various “numbing agents” in honor of the gauntlet I’m facing, I do occasionally burst into tears. In the past, I loved how crying made me feel so much that I would immediately stop because I was so happy that I was crying. Now, crying is serving a deeper purpose, a cleansing admission that I’m hanging by a thread, and I don’t care who sees or hears me. Later that day I would even weep in the midst of getting a blowout.
But I had gotten through the hard part, hugged my Dad, and my Mom and I departed for the 12:20 ferry. I was going to see my genius Chiropractor and my Mom was on her way to an appointment. When the ferry hadn’t left by 12:25, and there was giant fire truck parked down by the ramp, my spidey senses began to tingle. I was sensing a slight disturbance in the force, a lump of uh oh hovering between my 3rd and 4th Chakra. Hmmm…were we waiting for an injured or sick person? My Mom had been recounting, for me, tales from the previous night’s Town Council meeting. “They had a proclamation…not just an announcement (she put her hands to her mouth and blew a fanfare with a mock trumpet) “that next month, the entire month would be dedicated to LBGTQQ rights. The extra Q,” she said, “is for questioning.” I got out of the car and walked up towards the ticket booth and saw a crew member, a squawking walky talky in hand.
“Hey there. What’s going on? Is there going to be a boat leaving soon?
“Actually, um, the head Engineer died, so we’ve got to get a whole new crew because everyone is in shock.” I did not see that coming.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. So…”
He, reading my mind or maybe realizing, as I had just then, that we had gone to high school together: “The next boat will be the 2:05″
I observed my spirits sinking and the hot sun on my un-sunblocked face. Yes, I’m admitting that – at this point, I’m wondering more about how I’m getting through the graduation hoopla with substantive pain in my back and neck caused by dragging a garbage can full of 20 year old latex paint cans mixed with kitty litter up and over a curb ( Deepak Chopra, besides having someone to do that sort of thing for him, would have heard his intuition say: NO NO NO BAD IDEA!!) than about this man’s family and the grieving crew.
How in the world was I going to get to: This is happening for a reason, and not only that, but I wrote the script. I’m so depressed at that point, that I want to lay face down on the hot pavement and cry. I text my sister, wanting sympathy.
Ok, this will have to be a multi post unpacking because while I sound like a heartless me-first person in the text and while the “why” has not exactly presented itself definitively, I know there’s a pony in there somewhere, and if I keep up this unacademic sloughing, I will get down to it. But sometimes, you just have to keep the faith, that there is absolutely a plan or perhaps a joke that we aren’t exactly in on, but – it’s being unfurled by beings that truly, deeply love us.
On a related side note, does Enlightened Self Interest get enough love these days?