The light in your eyes given back to the stars.

A dear friend and teacher of mine died this morning.

My head aches and my eyelids are heavy from crying…

Not an anguished cry…

A cry to add my tears to the river that will carry her on her way…

 

I stand looking at the beautiful weaving of my life and I find the strands of her wisdom, her life, in some of the richest hues of this tapestry… Great, thirst-quenching moments of being welcomed, deeply nourishing moments of being seen.

A woman who wove sacred mystery and a deep reverence for creation into her every day.

We danced and sung together, great joyful circles of us. She, a leader of ‘Dances of Universal Peace’…

She, a leader of many things.

God is in every space… But the light seemed, in moments, so much brighter there.

Sure in her stories, each creation, each dedication considered.

No one small.

No one big.

Each brilliant and wise and knowing.

A global voice that spoke of the wisdom of the elders and the sacredness of right now.

Dear Khannah, your worldly prayer mat may have come undone, but there are strands of yours woven into each of ours… And together, as always, we continue practicing praise.

Shabbat shalom my friend, shabbat shalom.

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2 thoughts on “The light in your eyes given back to the stars.

  1. I assume this is Hannah or Khannah from Inala. All you say about her is so true. She introduced me to the translations of the New Testament by Neil Douglas Klotz,that are like a light shining in the darkness, with the energy of the Christmas Star. Her light opened a new, shining path for me.

  2. Actually it brings to mind a beautiful poem, Elegy for Lycidas, by John Milton, who upholds a dear friend who has died (drowned at sea) holding him up against the rotten, corrupt clergy of the day. I will write an extract from it here of the stanzas I love.
    ‘Yet once more ye laurels and ye ivy never sere,
    I come to pick your berries, harsh and rude,
    And with forced fingers crude,
    Shatter your leaves before the coming year.
    For Lycidas is dead, yes Lycidas,
    And hath not left his peer.
    Who would not sing for Lycidas,
    For well he knew to sing and build the lofty rhyme.
    He must not float upon his watery bier,
    Unwept and welter to the parching wind,
    Without the mead of some melodious tear.’
    from Elegy for Lycidas by John Milton

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