Keeping Vigil: An Altar of Attending

This is a deep and wide post that has taken me nearly all day to write so grab your tea and snuggle in...

Last week I shared about Heather and G. In the next few days, G will be leaving the hospital for the last time and entering hospice care at her father's home. G's life is coming to a close and, in Heather's words, her circle is getting smaller and smaller to include just a select few. Heather continues to walk very closely with G and her family. Your continued prayers, candle lightings, songs and dances of healing are so greatly appreciated.

I am holding several stories of women who are dying or have recently died right now. Some of them I know, most I have never met but hold their stories through clients and friends. I so deeply struck by these women and their stories. I seem to carry them like a seed in my belly. Sometimes I find that I have turned my head to look out the window at my naked trees, wondering what these women are thinking in that moment. What is happening in their bodies? What do they know that I will not know until I am approaching the end of my life? What do their prayers sound like in their mouths? Feel like in their bellies? Look like in their eyes? 

In the last few days these wonderings have begun to stretch out to include the women all over the planet who are dying. Right now. And right now. And now, too.

Yesterday while Sammy and I were outside throwing the boomerang around, I found a half-finished nest under our ancient lilac trees. Or maybe it was a falling-apart nest, I’m not sure. Somehow, in an instant, this half-nest represented all these women - known and unknown - that I have been praying with. I thought of G – and the women who are saying goodbye to life so much sooner than they expected to. Women who will not marry; women who will not mother; women who will leave behind children and lovers and neighbors and best friends; women whose dying is prolonged; women who are dying suddenly or violently or in great pain.

My hands and body knew what to do: I fetched the camera, then set this small, half-nest all around our house and yard taking pictures and praying as I went. It was quick and spontaneous.

Here's the half-nest and a few of the places we prayed together:

On my lap...

Cupped gently in my hand...

Among a five-year-old's toys in a rusty wagon... 

In a cracked-open pottery vessel,
a tulip bulb nearby...

 

Atop weathered corner bricks... 

 

Then, I ascended the steps to my office / meditation room to completely dismantle my altar and re-set it to receive the half-nest. 

Here:

 

The window shows the view from my office. That's our naked tree on the left, and our fiery orange one on the right.

Some close-ups:

 

 

In addition to the nest the altar holds items of special meaning:

• Lit stick of my favorite incense;
• Candle made for me by a little girl - also the candle I used in the placenta burial ritual; 
• Tibetan bell, which we call the Bell of Kindness;
• A Talking staff that appeared in my life at a spiritually transformational time, and has been held by hundreds of women in sacred circle;
• Pocket goddess token;
• Bundle of sage and sweet grass;
• Glass star and two pieces of broken glass;
• Heart-shaped rock; 
• Two goddesses, a tree goddess and Gaia,  keep guard on the window sill.

I feel as though I must midwife this altar today. When one stick of incense goes out I whip out another and light it up. I ring the bell and bow to a women - any woman - on the planet who is dying.

Please hear me: this is not morbid!  (At least not to me, though some may beg to differ.)  Nor I am depressed or heavy-hearted. I am full. And I'm compelled to keep vigil. Is anyone else keeping vigil with these women? What about those who die alone or frightened or without anyone to hold their hand? Today I feel as though I cannot let this go unnoticed.

Last week it was one year ago that my Aunt Lori committed suicide. She died utterly alone in her basement. Today I keep vigil for those like her.

We do not know how to die well in our culture. I guess I want to learn about this for myself. And when I really need/want to learn something I do just what I'm doing: I read about it, write about it, make songs, do rituals, look at pictures, pray, light candles of vigil, take long baths, gather up stories in my story pouch and pass them around.

I am in the process of writing some songs and rituals for women who are dying, including a sacred cirlce ritual for women to do with a woman near the end of her life.

A few weeks after Aunt Lori's death I wrote a song called We Remember Them inspired by the Jewish poem of the same title. In a few days I will be offering this song for download from my website in honor of the approaching Mexican celebration, Day of the Dead. (More on D of the D here and here and here.)

I'm finding that I have absolutely no idea how to wrap this post up.  All my thesis summation ideas feel utterly inadequate. So I'll ask some questions - since that's what this Story Midwife does - and see where the conversation goes, okay?

Can you imagine creating an altar for the women who are dying today?

Who in your life is dying right now? How are you companioning her/him?

Are you afraid of dying? Why or why not?

What rituals do you have to mark the passing of those whom you love?

If you knew you only had a few weeks to live, what would you most want/need to do for closure?  What rituals and prayers would be most important to you?

How do you want to be remembered?

Comments

[Heather Michele]

Holy Shit, woman. (Can I write that here?) I mean it, really...HOLY. Holy. holy. In all the shitty places, and all the bright and beautiful ones too. I couldn't even read your post. Just looked at the photos, mostly. Maybe I'll sit with the words later tonight. And cry. For now, know that G loves you. And I love you. And I am just so ever grateful to have you by my side in this holy, holy time. We remember them. We will always remember them. -HMO.

[Story Midwife]

Yes, yes. We can say shit here. We can say most anything here. Shit can be holy. And holiness can be shitty.

You are amazing, Heather Michele. I love you through and through.

Someday we WILL be next door neighbors. Until then, custom-blended herbal teas and and foot rubs are lullabies are being sent your way.

XOXO
Trishy

[Sacred Art of Living]

Wow Trish, this is an awesome post, one I will sit with for a while. I love the image of an "Altar of Attending" and am going to go link to you right this very second. Love, Christine
PS -- I love the new photo of you on the blog, how gorgeous!

[Bette Wappner]

Fallen and Undone,
Woven Circle of Instinct,
this Ancient Bird Nest. . .
held in the palms of my hands
I offer Prayers for the Lost.

b'oki.
(Bette Norcross Wappner)

[Story Midwife]

Christine,
You came to mind so often as I wrote yesterday. You are one who attends to death with such intention and beauty. I was remembering Duke and wondering what sort of Attending Altar you might make for him.

Thank you for the link!

[Story Midwife]

Oh, Bette --
Thank you! How beautiful and lovely are your simple words. They offer me a deep and quiet gratitude. Blessings and bows and more to you, dear one.
Trish

[LBP]

This is truly beautiful, Story Midwife! Lots of food for thought here! I love the half-nest. A resonance of its use and the work and care which went into its building, but also the sense of it being reclaimed by Nature! Wonderful!
I have read your post to my daughters and we are going to discuss our feelings and ideas about life and death. We have both new life (of a friend's long-awaited baby) and imminent death (of a much-loved relative) which we are focussing on at the moment. Will share our thoughts afterward!
Inspired,
LBPx

[Bette Wappner]

Trish, If I may, I thought I'd tell you and your viewers a small bit about the poem I wrote which is a 5-line Japanese short-form verse called Tanka (or Waka, the original old court poetry) 5/7/5/7/7 line syllables or approx. 31 total syl. The center/third line is the pivot line - it ties together the top and bottom thoughts of nature with human nature.
See: mountainsandrivers.org!

Thank you for your alter, thoughts, and photos here - they are so beautiful. I loved seeing the pieces in your alter. Nature is so symbolic and we all need more ritual in our lives. I will keep vigil, light incense and candles, and pray with you for all women who cry and rejoice in death and birth.

Bless YOU!
Bette (listening to your Breath CD and clearing my desk to do some printing :)

[Sacred Art of Living]

Oh Bette, that is so marvelous. I am just in awe of you both. Thank you Trish, I want to respond to your questions, but also just want to sit and take it in. A week from tomorrow is the 3rd anniversay of my mother's death, part of why I will be going on retreat. I think part of my time away will be creating a retreat of loss from the things I find in the forest.
Love, Christine

[Sacred Art of Living]

I meant to say creating "an altar" of things from the forest.

[Rena]

Dearest Trish,
Thank you so much for your writing and sharing your writing. Inspiration begets movement...on many layers doesn't it? So appreciate you taking time to share these beautiful insights even with your busy schedule. As I had shared with you earlier, I have been asked to "search for items, songs, poems, etc. for her "Celebration of Life/Funeral" as she is terminally ill. Though it is a great honor to assist her in this way...it has really stirred many emotions surrounding life, death, and life again. Your writing is a piece I will share with her for sure. Thank you, thank you! Thanks to all others here too...your comments are heartfelt and received with tender care and gratitude.

rena

[cathleenmedina]

Trish, I will pray with you and many others. And like others who've commented, I thank you for your words and ritual and intention, and your "Altar of Attending." Blessings, Cathleen

[Story Midwife]

LBP,
I eagerly await the news of how your daughters roll around in this story and share their own wisdoms. From what very little I've read about your girls on your own blog I sense their depth and joy. Blessings to you all as you hold the space in the midst of brith and death, hellos and goodbyes.

Bette,
thank you for sharing more about your poetry. Each time I read one of your works I feel this tug in me to try my hand at haiku. I remember loving this structure when I first learned about it in grade school. We shall see where this tug leads!

Christine,
It is three years today. Oh, dear one, I can imagine that much is stirring and re-surfacing in your remembering. I am so glad to hear that you are retreating in the woods. The altar of loss is such a lovely idea. Blessings and more to you as you journey in this time.

Rena,
you and your friend were also ever-present with me as I wrote this post and built this altar. You are a powerful midwife with your friend. I will keep vigil with you from afar, dear one.

Cathleen,
Thank you so much. I'm so grateful you're in my world.

Love to you all, beautiful women! You're amasing!

Deep bows to you,
Trish,
The Attending Story Midwife

[Heather Michele]

Hi Best Friend. I'm thinking of you so much, carrying your words and your music with me as I travel these days. As I ponder this post more, I'm now wondering if it wasn't an unfinished nest that you found, but an UNRAVELING one. Seems that's what happens at death. An unraveling. A coming apart. A breaking down. An opening up. G is slowly going further and further away. The Veil is very, very thin. I'm going to be with her again today--in the midst of her unraveling family. Somehow I am invited to be one who is praying with and for them. Vulnerable in my own unraveling. Witnessing theirs. I cup them gently with hands of grace. Just as you did your nest. Thanks for the images and the encouragement across the miles. I miss you more than I ever have. -HMO...

[Story Midwife]

Hey there, best friend. Yes, it DOES seem that the nest is unraveling. And it continues to do so. My black kitten, Jupiter, found it and burried his fiesty nose and claws in it. I was so angry. But then I realized that this, too, is how life is: beyond our control. Even the things we hold sacred and holy, the things we set apart as untouchable must come to a close. Even they are not immune to death and endings.

I miss you too. And I look forward to two wonderful days with you next week.

Love, love, love,
Trishy

[jill]

Your writing takes my breath away. And then makes me want to sit with my breath for quite awhile. Thank you for that gift.

[Story Midwife]

Jill,
You are most, most, most welcome. Thanks for stopping by.