I know this life is precious.
As we’ve been traveling, I have found myself thinking about my Mother. She pops into my thoughts as I sit in the pure beauty of a newfound place or crazy, weird experience. In the past, I would mentally note it as something I would share with Mom.
Yet, she’s gone and I have to find a new way of sharing my travel with her. I honor her silent presence and thank her for receiving all the stories I gathered from abroad. I would send her postcards that would arrive long after my trip had ended and I would find that small and perfect souvenir to give to her, although they weren’t always small. I did purchase a Turkish rug, snuggly rolled up, and taking up prime real estate in my backpack. It is one of the possessions I have held onto despite the massive culling of things over the past couple of years. The rug was the first thing that you saw when you stepped into her house on Westbury St.
I also found myself connecting to Mom in Nairobi as we visited Sheldrick’s Elephant Orphanage. I used to sit with Ma and show her the Sheldrick videos of the elephant orphans playing, running, rolling in mud, and dusting themselves, and despite her dementia, she would ask how my elephants were getting along, as I foster two of them. I asked for her influence and protection as we were awaiting results for a potential DVT with my husband Ed. We were hours away from catching a flight to Cairo and needed to make sure it was safe for Ed to travel (it wasn’t a DVT, so away we went).
And I see my loss in others I meet. In Lamu, Kenya we bonded with a nearly 21-year old sailor who works on a dhow. He latched onto us over the 11-days we had in Lamu Shela and all in a good way. His father passed away unexpectedly when he was 13 years old and something within him connected strongly to Ed. As we said our goodbyes, he said Ed reminded him of having his Dad around and my heart broke just a little bit more.
In Cairo, we visited the “Cave Church” a stunning open-air gathering place that can seat over 2,000 people. During our time there, a funeral procession began with the deceased persons’ coffin being carried on the men’s shoulders, followed by a procession of men and then women. Three of the women in the front were wailing and crying out, “my mother, my mother” (in Arabic), and I got hit by the intensity of grief despite the cultural and language differences. I heard their cry of “my mother” and once again felt the strength of connection that is the Divine feminine.
I remember a teaching that reminds us how everyone has their story of suffering and pain, often invisible and revealed when trust is established. When you see someone with a huge and welcoming smile, or one who has material abundance or not, or maybe someone who acts out in anger, we often connect an unworthy judgment to them. I honor being reminded to hold compassion for all beings, even in the most brutal moments when I want to do otherwise. Perhaps the wound of their story that I will never see is showing itself, so part of my ongoing practice is to hold all beings lightly.
As we continue along our path, I try to stay open to receiving the ongoing lessons of life and soul. Thank you for the silent teachers who unknowingly reveal themselves to me, and to my Mom, whose energy is ever-present. I think both the elephants and I felt we were all just hanging out together!
Blog and photos by Jayne
