Yesterday, I looked up antonyms for “grateful”. I thought I must be feeling the exact opposite. “Ungrateful” was the first entry, somehow not fitting. I went down the list and found “dolorous”. Marked by excessive grief and distress. A word which sounds like the traditional name “Dolores” from the Latin, a name meaning “sorrow” which is given to girls in honor of the Virgin Mary. This is perhaps the opposite of being given the name “Joy” or “Felicity”.
I woke up having just dreamt about Susanna. She was with her father, on a bench, sitting up on a hill where I could see her as I approached. I called them on my phone, to let them know I was almost there. I eagerly said hello to her, knowing I had not seen her for a while because she had been sleeping. She heard me and then I had to wake up.
I survive days full of pain by knowing they will pass. There are actions which may help, but some pains need to hang around to be exposed before they dissipate. I found myself in a deep- seated hatred, beyond anger. I hated and resented every person alive in the world for not being Susanna. This was not viable and made no sense, but I wanted to be with her so badly that l felt this. I wanted to speak to a human being in a body who was my daughter. There is no solution for this. I had to do my best to forgive the world, for this transgression of not being able to bring Susanna back, along with all of its other shortcomings. Not easy lately given current events, but necessary as far as making it through the day.
Eventually I found solace in an unexpected place. A book. Books saved many days for me in the past, days which were too murky to be infiltrated by other humans. I am not ready to mention which book and why but it is related to the world of spirit, and the reasons I have to fight for wholeness as I remain here and fulfill my mission. When the world here marks itself unlivable, there is more. There is even a barrage of angelic assistance, especially on the days when all hope seems lost. We do not need to do anything alone.
I went to sleep last night relieved that the day was over. Perhaps next year I might better enjoy Thanksgiving, a complicated feast laced with national grief at its essence anyway. Celebrating the harvest with loved ones is one framework. The annihilation of indigenous people and their culture (ongoing at Standing Rock) is another. A “pilgrim” is a word meaning “traveler”, in a spiritual as well as geographical sense. It reminds me of the Yeats poem, “When You are Old”. One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, and loved the sorrows of your changing face. (This is even more beautiful now that I am becoming old). Yet I am baffled at what the Puritans considered “freedom”, and what became a way to obtain it.
When the grief of not having Susanna here overcomes me, the only outlet will always be to look beyond earth existence. I have been busy lately, studying Braille for my coursework, and less frequently able to go out and walk. The holiday schedule has given me a little more time and space. As I look to the sidewalks and footpaths, littered with random Brooklyn confetti and the natural spoils of late autumn, I see many more “S” formations even than usual. This last time, I first saw a braille symbol arranged in dried gum dots. Dots 234. This is the letter “S”. There was even a dot 6 ahead of it, the capital indicator. Susanna is an energetic arm’s length away. I am not even alone while doing my homework.
Somewhere around the hours where the veil is thinner, three-ish (I did not look at the clock), I woke from a dream with a spirit voice in my ear. A voice asking me, emphatically, for “peace”. It was a boisterous male voice, I could feel the warmth of its breath in my ear. I did not remember the details about what was going on, and am not sure who it was, but I knew it was a call for me. I asked Archangel Michael and all of the benevolent universal forces to send peace throughout my home and life and self. I think that those who love and care for me, both in this realm and in the others, do not want me to hang on to so much pain. Grief and pain appear as they need to and are real, but there is more. I need to see past the pain because there is work to be done here. I went back to sleep and woke up with a clean slate for this day. Peace.
Susanna's Golden Ball 