Death and Cosmic Love.
Death arrived at my home on Sunday, October 27.
My grandmother passed away peacefully, surrounded by her children.
María del Carmen Isabel, born in Guadalajara, Mexico, in 1937, will always remind me of a pearl.
I grew up just a garden away from her; she was one of my primary caregivers. I always knew I could cross that garden, where she’d be waiting with a mango, ready for us to play in her house filled with treasures from around the world. She’d bathe us and send us home feeling fresh and cherished.
Her departure has changed my life forever. It’s been such a roller coaster of sensations; my heart sinks yet also sings in her memory. She died just one day before her 65th wedding anniversary with my grandfather and only days before Día de Muertos.
Mystical timing.
Our last conversation, a few months ago, was painful for both of us. I believe it was the catalyst for her departure. My teacher, Mirabai Star, encouraged me to write a letter of forgiveness, which I did. That same day, I met with my friend and death doula Jainned Boont-McDonald, who shared Thai rituals for approaching death. In Thai culture, family members wash the feet of a loved one preparing to die, Jainned mentioned this could be something I could remotely as a ritual, since my grandmother was in the bardo—the space between life and death—and we couldn’t speak one last time to express our love and say goodbye.
Two days later, my mother called, letting me know that my grandmother was back in the hospital and that I should prepare for her passing that night. I was at the farm, drying pears, when I felt an urge to close my eyes and imagine meeting my grandmother in the most beautiful place in the universe. There, I washed her feet, combed her hair, rubbed rose oil into her hands, kissed her, and made her the most beautiful bride ready to go back to the stars. We shared that tender moment, even as I knew it was our last. I opened my eyes, and five minutes later, my younger brother sent a message: our beloved grandmother had just passed away.
I am a living altar to her memory.
Death brings us to our knees. I stared at the night sky, grateful even in the face of disarming, humbling sorrow. I spent the next hours packing, letting go, once again putting my life into boxes.
Tonight is a new moon, and it feels like the end of an era.
Life continues, and death gives life its meaning.
Tonight is Día de Muertos, the most sacred night to honor our beloved departed, to remember our friends and family, and to hold them close through memories and stories.
the eternal cycle of life and death..
Sacred life... sacred death.
omnamashivaya,
maria
Ps: photographing and experimenting again the contraction of nature, winter is almost here, sharing my favourite moments of my life in Mendocino as it also comes to an end.
