The God in me beholds the God in you, Namaste. The God in me beholds the God in you, Namaste... the lyrics of a song are swimming in my head, calling me to be divine and noticing the divine in all beings who come my way today, each day. I am blessed, I have the time to sit silently, in the privacy of a prayer chair with my laptop capturing my thoughts and dreams. Reminding me of what I have been taught by my teachers and guides, both human and heavenly beings. .
I am, as I strive to remember the blessing of unity, living today as one with Source, remembering to connect with my gang of masters and teachers. I remember to remember to access the wisdom and knowledge thereof. I remember, I do not walk alone.
I am sitting here so excited that next week I will be in the presence of Her Holiness Sai Maa Lakshmi Devi in Albany NY. Maa is a fully realized divine human being,. Since 2001, I have watched as Maa has evolved as a master teacher, being one with Source and making her capacity for unconditional loving available to all who come to be with her. I will deepen my remembering myself as divine. Remembering that I too have the divine fully available to me. I am divine. I will remember I AM choosing to live an awake and aware life, mindful of the multidimensional being I am. I am so excited just sitting here knowing I shall dance and sing with my Maa and my soul sisters and brothers.
I again claim my birthright to be this heavenly being in my personalized earthsuit mastering this human experience -- being my joy in the face of life's trials and tribulations, its sorrows, the partnerships, the losses, the beauty and the infinite love and glory that surrounds me. Namaste.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Thursday, June 14, 2012
LAYING DAD TO REST
This past Sunday my husband, Steve, & I & a dozen or so family & close friends participated in a graveside memorial for our beloved dad, Artie Goldberg, 88, who passed on April 17th after living a fulfilled and complete life. He'd married [60 years] the girl of his dreams, Beatrice, and had a son, Stephen, whom he treasured & enjoyed. And he loved me .
In January, when he learned he had stage 4 prostate cancer that had spread through his body he moved through the stages of dying with great courage. As his minister [he gave me this title while I was still in Seminary] I knew we'd be stepping on untouched ground during each phase of the process. It soon became a learning adventure that we spoke about freely during his last three months. He would ask me why something was the way it was and I'd respond, 'Dad, your body is dying, it doesn't have much more time here in this form and your Soul is working its release, like a birthing back to Spirit.' He'd look deeply into my eyes and just nodded his head. Did he believe me? Over time he considered what I said more closely & he accepted his essence would move out & on. Hallelueia .
Artie faced the remaining days sometimes with sadness at leaving us & yet there was excitement too that there might be more to come. And he loved eating, relishing each bite. Often having more than one dessert or eating pancakes for dinner! He said his goodbyes to everyone a number of times before he left, always honing his short list of key relationships to call. His deep love for people was his strongest asset and the love returned was enormous. He passed knowing he loved fully & was loved fully by his caregivers, his friends & his children/grand child and family. His body died peacefully & his Soul soared clearly aware & awake with his love for life, others & Spirit. He completed living.
In creating the two memorial services I did, I focused on his distinct relationship groups...the first was two days following his passing & his fellow residents, staff and hospice team [Care Alternatives] at Sunrise of Newtown Square were still reeling having lost their historian and male leader. Steve made a memory collage of Artie's life and we laughed and cried as we shared his life. The hospice Rabbi sang a song and recited Kaddish. I knew Dad's Soul was able to return home in peace.
The second service was more intimate, just family and close friends. Since Dad was so proud of his participation in World War II as a Tech Sergeant in the 567th Regime & 'til his death was in contact with his cronies from the war, I invited the Army's National Honor Guard to attend the service for what's called the Flag Ceremony [I arranged it through the Funeral Director, Joseph Levine, thanks to a tip from our dear friend Ed Adams]. It was so precious. One of the two Sergeants placed the flag on Dad's cremains and walked it to the family plot at Montefiore cemetery where over 60,000 bodies lay buried. He then stood next to me before the gathering. Then the other Sergeant standing about 30 feet away began playing Taps on his bugle. I lost it, tears uncontrollably flowing down my face. I stood before the crowd crying not just for Artie who was my dad for most of my adult life, but for my own dad, Sidney Blanken, a veteran of WWII who passed when I was in my early twenties with a new baby girl and a fragile marriage, and my first husband, Gary Singer, a veteran of the Vietnam War who passed last summer. I looked over at my beloved Steve holding hands with my beloved daughter, Dina Singer, as they too cried. Then both Sergeants performed the Flag Ceremony ending with presenting the triangle flag with its blue field of white stars to Steve. Then both soldiers saluted, turned & marched down the hill.
It was the most solemn prayer I could have given...I was moved beyond words. The silence was precious. After a bit of breathing, my senses returned to normal. As the officiant of the memorial, all eyes were upon me. I spoke the traditional words of burial. And then the stories of Dad's life. Then the fun began for me as I facilitated the group discussion of how Artie had impacted each of their lives. Happy and alive ourselves, we moved the conversation to a favorite restaurant of the Goldberg clan, Country Club Diner where we sat for 2 more hours sharing our lives with each other, just loving. A loved one's body dies and we celebrate their moving on. The truth is we move on too, sometimes slowly. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with great excitement. Our visits to Sunrise have ceased yet every time we pass the exit we both still sigh & think "shall we stop and visit dad" -- when will that cease?
In January, when he learned he had stage 4 prostate cancer that had spread through his body he moved through the stages of dying with great courage. As his minister [he gave me this title while I was still in Seminary] I knew we'd be stepping on untouched ground during each phase of the process. It soon became a learning adventure that we spoke about freely during his last three months. He would ask me why something was the way it was and I'd respond, 'Dad, your body is dying, it doesn't have much more time here in this form and your Soul is working its release, like a birthing back to Spirit.' He'd look deeply into my eyes and just nodded his head. Did he believe me? Over time he considered what I said more closely & he accepted his essence would move out & on. Hallelueia .
Artie faced the remaining days sometimes with sadness at leaving us & yet there was excitement too that there might be more to come. And he loved eating, relishing each bite. Often having more than one dessert or eating pancakes for dinner! He said his goodbyes to everyone a number of times before he left, always honing his short list of key relationships to call. His deep love for people was his strongest asset and the love returned was enormous. He passed knowing he loved fully & was loved fully by his caregivers, his friends & his children/grand child and family. His body died peacefully & his Soul soared clearly aware & awake with his love for life, others & Spirit. He completed living.
In creating the two memorial services I did, I focused on his distinct relationship groups...the first was two days following his passing & his fellow residents, staff and hospice team [Care Alternatives] at Sunrise of Newtown Square were still reeling having lost their historian and male leader. Steve made a memory collage of Artie's life and we laughed and cried as we shared his life. The hospice Rabbi sang a song and recited Kaddish. I knew Dad's Soul was able to return home in peace.
The second service was more intimate, just family and close friends. Since Dad was so proud of his participation in World War II as a Tech Sergeant in the 567th Regime & 'til his death was in contact with his cronies from the war, I invited the Army's National Honor Guard to attend the service for what's called the Flag Ceremony [I arranged it through the Funeral Director, Joseph Levine, thanks to a tip from our dear friend Ed Adams]. It was so precious. One of the two Sergeants placed the flag on Dad's cremains and walked it to the family plot at Montefiore cemetery where over 60,000 bodies lay buried. He then stood next to me before the gathering. Then the other Sergeant standing about 30 feet away began playing Taps on his bugle. I lost it, tears uncontrollably flowing down my face. I stood before the crowd crying not just for Artie who was my dad for most of my adult life, but for my own dad, Sidney Blanken, a veteran of WWII who passed when I was in my early twenties with a new baby girl and a fragile marriage, and my first husband, Gary Singer, a veteran of the Vietnam War who passed last summer. I looked over at my beloved Steve holding hands with my beloved daughter, Dina Singer, as they too cried. Then both Sergeants performed the Flag Ceremony ending with presenting the triangle flag with its blue field of white stars to Steve. Then both soldiers saluted, turned & marched down the hill.
It was the most solemn prayer I could have given...I was moved beyond words. The silence was precious. After a bit of breathing, my senses returned to normal. As the officiant of the memorial, all eyes were upon me. I spoke the traditional words of burial. And then the stories of Dad's life. Then the fun began for me as I facilitated the group discussion of how Artie had impacted each of their lives. Happy and alive ourselves, we moved the conversation to a favorite restaurant of the Goldberg clan, Country Club Diner where we sat for 2 more hours sharing our lives with each other, just loving. A loved one's body dies and we celebrate their moving on. The truth is we move on too, sometimes slowly. Sometimes with tears, sometimes with great excitement. Our visits to Sunrise have ceased yet every time we pass the exit we both still sigh & think "shall we stop and visit dad" -- when will that cease?
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