POETRY
Wafting Upon the Breeze
A poem about the transformation of death
I have known death in many forms: from grandparents and pets passing, and a nanny who raised me as my second mother; friends going out of my life, saying goodbye with a move; watching a little African boy crushed under the wheels of a car I rode in; a relationship ending. And though I have not suffered the death of a parent or a lover or my child, I cannot understand the need for spending so long in grief. Maybe because I have been fascinated with death the whole of my life since Elizabeth, the little girl next door who was born only minutes apart from me at the same hospital, died of leukemia when she was maybe five. Why take her and not me? I have made death a friend, not because death is inevitable. It’s just that the experience of who I AM makes a mockery of such a notion. So when my friend with whom I roomed with for a time, daily grieved for months over his father’s passing, these words came; which, of course, I kept to myself.
O friend, why do you grieve over Your father’s bones? Why do you grieve over the inevitable? You spit in anger That God has taken him away.
Does the sun steal away The water in the pool To make the sky full of rain?
Or does the water simply Follow its nature with the sun?
What you call your father Is nothing more than smoke, Blown away by the breath of God.
Mother, too, will follow, Sister, brother, lovers, and child; All are prone to the breath of God.
Why lament And stubbornly try to hold onto A moment of smoke’s form?
O friend, open your heart To the breeze of the Name, And take joy in the world’s dancing forms.
To make solid what is but smoke Is but a foolish dream, indeed.
With such a dream Will you find only pain.
It is not my Beloved Who asks you to dream so; So do not rant at the wind Or gnash your teeth at the sun.
Be free And fly to the sun And dance upon the breeze.
This Janaka has done Singing the Name.
Thank you for reading this excerpt from my book, Footprints Along the Shore of an Incoming Tide: Impressions of a Fellow Traveler. Follow this link to purchase my book from Amazon.
Commentary
Since writing this poem, both of my parents have drifted away on the breath of God. Both times I had the joy and honor of being there at the time of the passing into smoke.
With my father, it was especially magical. Only he and I remained in the room, the other family members taking sleep. I had the vigil. I meditated while he gasped for breath. Then I felt a presence come into the room. It was time. I stood up and placing my hands on his head and heart I chanted Om. And then he smiled a smile I had never seen in his life. He took one last breath, and was gone. I wept with joy, holding on to the Name.
What is the Name? It is the secret Name of the Heart. It is every Divine Name of all traditions rolled into One. It is Silence beyond the rattlings of time.
A word about grieving. Even masters, who know through the experience of the infinite nature of the Self/Soul, may still grieve over the passing of a parent or a loved one. Why not? There is nothing wrong with grief. It is an emotion. And emotions come and go. The master knows she is not the grief. It comes like rain and then is gone. The showers may come again and pass once more.
Everyone will grieve with their own timing. There is no set time one should grieve, although some cultures will dictate the how and when of mourning.
Grief is very important. And so is letting go.
Here are some other poems I hope you will enjoy.
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