Just
received word that a beautiful guiding light has transitioned from the Earth;
my friend, Mary Whitney; brilliant astrologer and all-around gorgeous human; it
is hard for me to understand; she seemed to have so much more to do here. But that is the thing about karma; it is not
for us to understand another soul’s journey; only to be grateful that we crossed
paths.
My
first-ever astrology reading was with Mary; I met her on retreat; along with
her darling husband, Gary. Just honest-to-goodness-great-kind-earthy-real
people. Had no idea what to expect from
an astrology reading; I was just beginning attempt to grasp even the tiniest
bits of the vast science. My entire sense of self and perspective on what had
happened in my life transformed as we discussed my natal chart. I remember so clearly, she said to me “Oh my
God . . . what happened to you between the ages of 18 and 25?”
“Seriously!”
was the first reaction of my mind; and it the first time that began to
understand that the dark years; the terrible, terrible hardness of it; it had
been decided; foretold; I had chosen these lessons, and they were not easy.
As I thanked
her for that observation she commented, “Well; if you didn’t die, and you didn’t
kill anyone else, you managed the karma well; the transits are astonishing to
see.”
It
changed my perspective completely; from the outside to the inside and then back
out. I wasn’t a failure for what had happened; for the choices I had made; I had
managed the karma. All those years spent
beating myself up for what had happened; this knowledge gifted me with the
ability to set that burden down.
She was
a direct disciple and devout student of Goswami Kriyananda; one of his original
students of astrology; and an ordained Swami who loved to perform weddings and
other ceremonies. When we last spoke she
told stories of listening to Kriyananda lecture; the same lectures I now listen
to many years later on CDs; I love to imagine her sitting in the room with him;
taking note; smiling and laughing at his sweet jokes.
The last
time I hugged her was at my dear sister Gracia’s ordination as a Swami in the
Kriya order; since that time she suffered from a major health crisis; fought
back hard to regain her regular life and practice as an astrologer; my last
reading with her was in the Fall.
She had
to work a little harder to do the reading; to think things through; to speak
clearly; but she demonstrated over and over her great memory of not only what
she learned through the years but even small details of the very few times we
had been together.
“Are you
still dating that lovely young man we met at the ordination?” she inquired,
referring to my 55-year old boyfriend. I
was so happy to be able to say yes; especially because of her magical
relationship with her husband; Mary fully understood the power of love.
She
related the plans for their 50th wedding anniversary celebration,
even though it would be a couple years away. My heart goes out to her husband;
theirs is a love story that makes one be assured that there can be soulmates.
So go
hug your children; send an “i love u” text to your mamma; or stop and take a
moment to count your many blessings.
This life, it’s very short in the context of things. Try to take no one
or no-thing for granted.
In
classes lately I have been playing a spoken-word version of the poem “Do Not Go
Gentle Into That Good Night.” It’s from the Interstellar soundtrack; and it’s
lovely.
Oh Mary,
I shall miss your light. Though I know it will shine brightly for us in our
dreams and meditations. Om Shanti,
Shanti, Shanti-h.
Do Not Go
Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
From The
Poems of Dylan Thomas
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