Life and Death and Friendship

So, in the midst of trying to hurry and meet a deadline on the labyrinth, preparing to travel overseas for three weeks, meet the needs of my six year old, and learn what I need to know as a new employer, and just because the universe knows that I haven't got enough stress in my life- a friend of mine for the last fifteen years went into the hospital two weeks ago. That's Sharon above, with her husband Tom. This photo is about six months old.

I don't have any way to describe her to you. She was a magical being, full of vitality and love, genuine and gentle and joyfyul. She gave power and hope to thousands of people all over the world, quite literally. She taught in the More to Life program, a weekend course that offers insight into personal motivations, and opportunities for taking conscious control of subconscious fears. There are people who know and love Sharon on at least four continents. If she had been in service to a religion, they'd be getting ready to saint her. I'm not exaggerating.

And now she's gone on to her next adventure. I pack some toiletries, think about how to entertain Alexander for sixteen hours of travel, then sit and cry for a moment. If ever anyone lived well, it was Sharon. This grief I feel, it is a selfish thing. I want her to still be here, where I can see her smile or hear her voice.

Actually, I do have a way to describe her. The sanskrit word, 'namaste,' cannot be easily translated into English. Our culture barely has the concepts for it. Roughly, it means- that which is divine in me sees and honors and cherishes that which is divine in you. Imagine going through life in this way, being your whole self, and seeing the wholeness in others, all the time. That was Sharon. She set a magical example.

There's a memorial service, today. I can't make it, since I'll be on a plane to Wales. My mind is full of the why, though. And the what ifs- what if I had to face the sudden death of my spouse? What if I suddenly collapsed, as she did? Have I left a legacy of hope and joy? Have my good works outweighed the hurts I have offered? What can I learn from the aching empty pain in my chest?

I know this, I loved her. I honor her memory, and I hope that I can step forward and take up her vision of a whole humanity in peace and cooperation.

Namaste,
Crow

The Mundanely Miraculous

I am often amazed by the many small things that come together to make a functioning whole. Take driving, for instance. Most of us do it every day. How often have you stopped to notice the magic in it?

First, there are these amazing machines, a little dirty, yes, but full of inventiveness and adventure. I'm not talking about auto industry ads that portray driving across some pristine wilderness as if its a private and highly romantic moment. What a heap of dung. I'm talking about the long list of people who said, "I think I could make that better..."

We have rack and pinion steering, anti lock brakes, seat belts, air bags, automatic transmissions, overdrive, four wheel drive, more horsepower than we need, and cd players that ignore the bumps in the road. All because of the very human need to improve things. We bought a Prius. It's green, both literally and figuratively. I drove it only on side roads, one time last week. As an experiment, I drove very gently, no sudden acceleration, no powering up hills. I could go ninety percent of the time with no gasoline engine, only the batteries. How many innovators have contributed to that moment of quiet play? Hundreds, at least.

I drive an SUV, whenever I'm working. I need the ability to haul a huge trailer full of sand or soil or gravel. I got cut off, the other day, at a place where traffic merges from two lanes to one. Ticked me off, to be sure. I don't like to see the selfish and opportunistic side of my fellow humans. But I also noticed that it was the only such incident in months. Most of the time, people cooperate.

What about lane lines? That's my favorite driving miracle. It's just paint, and not that much of it. And we have this agreement, as a society, to play like they're boundaries. It works, too! Hundreds of thousands of drivers hit the central Texas highways every day. What's amazing to me is that we have so few problems. Sure, there are accidents. It seems to me, though, that there could be many more. Somewhere between self preservation and caring about others, we actually do our best to cooperate.

So next time you get behind the wheel, or sit as a passenger, glance out the window. Remind yourself of the power of human cooperation. Maybe we can start working together on bigger things.

Namaste,
Crow

A Labyrinth for Greenbriar Park

I'm constructing a stone and brick labyrinth in a public park. (If you're not familiar with the idea, you can check out the Labyrinth Society link in the sidebar.) All my labyrinth buddies agree that this is very likely the first one on city property in the wonderful city of Austin. I've been working with labyrinths for nine years, now, and I've finally crested into getting paid to do what I love. It's very gratifying.

I'm also venturing into a major construction project with a solid deadline, and the pressure I put on myself is intense. I want this labyrinth to be perfect! I want it to showcase all the skill and attention to detail that I can muster, so that people will come along and say, "Wow, this is great!" I want them to look me up and ask me to build their labyrinth. I'm learning to let go of the small stuff so the big picture can fall into place. Fretting over a half centimeter gap doesn't move me toward my goal of being finished by the end of the month.

Building a labyrinth has so many parallels to walking one. You turn about, you make good progress toward your goal, you stop and go backwards, then progress again. Like anything in life, I guess. I bought sand to have a workable base for the stones and bricks. We spread it out and it looked beautiful. We started laying the bricks, and it soon became clear that the sand wasn't deep enough. So- out come the bricks, order more sand, wait for the delivery, spread and level for a second time- a week later we start laying bricks again. Now we can do that with ease, though. Before the second load of sand, it was very difficult.

Today will be the second day of placing bricks for the second time. I hope to add three or four photos to our collection of labyrinth documentation. Every thirty five bricks or so, we take a picture. So it should unfold in digital glory, as soon as I get my website up. Every photo will be a snapshot of four hours heavy labor, though the instantaneous nature of photography will appear like a magical summoning of brickwork, jumping into perfect patterns and concentric circles. If I could do it that way, just conjure the whole thing into being, I might be tempted to skip the heavy process of lifting and digging and tamping and adjusting. I'm glad I can't, though. The work is teaching me things, and I want to keep on learning.

Namaste,
Crow

Lessons in Unconditional Love

Nearly seven years back, I gave birth for the second time. Home birth was my choice, with the best loved of my friends in attendance. We welcomed the child with ritual and celebration under the starry skies of August. We walked my home built labyrinth under the pale pink and salmon of a summer sunrise. It was all lovely, even the incredible power of the force that gripped my body as Alexander entered the world.

Ever since then, he has been my teacher. He has a wonderful open heart, and he makes friends with everyone he meets. When he was three, he learned that there was such a thing as a birthday party, and he started inviting every single person we met. At the grocery store, "You can come to my birthday party at my house in Texas." At the bank, "Can you come to my birthday party tomorrow?" At the thrift store, "I'm going to be four, and you can come to my party." Real world logistics didn't matter. That they were total strangers didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had this tremendous and unconditional love for everybody, and he wanted them to be happy and celebrate.

Today he's more sophisticated. He tells people my phone number, so they can call for directions to our home. He asks if they're going to be busy. He's very considerate. And he's just as open and loving. He's never learned to hold back or be afraid or hide his light. I hope he never does. He has even found close friendship and mourned loss in one swift afternoon.

We met another youngster while shopping for clothes. They played together for maybe 30 minutes, and then we parted ways to go try things on. When we came back out, his friend had gone. He searched the aisles fruitlessly, then broke down into some serious tears. It didn't matter to him that they had been friends for only a short time. Zander loves completely and easily, and he had shared his heart with that other youngster as naturally as puppies play together. I held him while he cried, and I tried to understand the amazing purity that he has. I am not so open, not so easily filled with love or loss. But whose is the stronger heart? The one with barriers? I think not.

I thank all the faces of deity every day for the presence of the little master in my life. I hope that one day I can return to the blessed state of openness he demonstrates for me.

Namaste,
Crow

What's your name?

One of the questions I hear most often is, “So how did you get the name Crow?”

It’s something I chose. I have several totem animals, and the three closest to me are Horse, Cat and Crow. As time flows on, Horse has evolved into Unicorn, representing my healing work. Cat has grown to become Tiger, as I have grown in my warriorship. Crow stayed herself, placidly waiting for me to get with the program.

In Native American lore, the Crow is always curious. Once, in her quest for understanding, she aggravated her own shadow so much that it swallowed her. Having no shadow is a sign of a spirit, but Crow had not actually died. Her unique status gave her the unusual ability to travel through the veil between the worlds and listen to the song of the Great Spirit.

When Spirit took notice that Crow would return to this realm and share what she had heard, he gave her a loud voice, so that many could hear her. I believe that Crow is waiting for me, encouraging me to share my truth, as I have heard it from this world and the worlds next door. To support this stage of my growth, and knowing that it could be some time before it is complete, I have chosen to bear her name as my name.

Namaste,
L Crow Mitchell