Imaginary Conversation
~ Linda Pastan

You tell me to live each day
as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen
where before coffee I complain
of the day ahead—that obstacle race
of minutes and hours,
grocery stores and doctors.

But why the last? I ask. Why not
live each day as if it were the first—
all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
her eyes awake that first morning,
the sun coming up
like an ingénue in the east?

You grind the coffee
with the small roar of a mind
trying to clear itself. I set
the table, glance out the window
where dew has baptized every
living surface.

November has been a complicated month in global politics. Well, really, what month isn’t complicated? But with the elections in US and Brazil, and the ongoing Brexit negotiations, I have felt extra stress around the political events, both locally and internationally. While the US elections went better than many feared, and progress was made, we still have a ways to go here at home, and the situation in Brazil feels much like the US post-election in 2016, and the Brexit negotiations are one huge anxiety-inducing pit of chaos.

Thus, this month, we return to Kuan Yin (the small statue with candle on the left) and Kali (the tall blue glass jar candle on the right).

Community Altar Nov 2018 – Kuan Yin and Kali

Kuan Yin is known as “she who hears the cries of the people”, and is the Bodhisattva of Compassion. She provides relief to the worried, rest to the weary, and hope to those who are lost. She brings comfort to those afflicted with grief, pain, fear, and oppression. We can pray to Kuan Yin for comfort and healing. (“Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa” means “I hail to the Bodhisattva who listens to the sound of the world.”)

Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa
Kuan Yin, I cry to You in weariness; grant me rest.

Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa
Kuan Yin, I cry to You in pain; grant me release.

Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa
Kuan Yin, I cry to You in grief; grant me peace.

Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa
Kuan Yin, I cry to You in sorrow; grant me hope.

Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa
Compassionate Mother, You who hear all the cries of your people,
I thank You for Your gift of rest.
I thank You for Your gift of release.
I thank You for Your gift of peace.
I thank you for your gift of hope.
Namo Kuan-Shi-Yin Pusa

Once we have been restored by Kuan Yin’s grace and compassion, we are ready to resume our plan of positive action, inspired by Kali.

Kali is the Hindu Goddess of time, life, creation, and death. She is a fierce Mother, and protector of Her children. Kali calls time on the oppressors, the evildoers, the ones who profit at the expense of others, and leads them to their own destruction. She leads Her children to liberation, and to creation of a new and better life. We can pray to Kali for the courage and strength to do the work to create the change our world needs.

Jai Kali!
Fierce Dark Mother,
Protector of good,
Destroyer of evil,
Bringer of strength and power and justice.
Protect me as I seek to do good in this world.
Grant me courage and strength,
That I use my power to bring justice and freedom to all.
May all who do evil fall to their own works.
May all who are oppressed be freed.
Jai Kali!

May Kuan Yin bless you with healing, and may Kali guide you with strength and courage.

A corner of my Loki altar is dedicated to his parents, Laufey and Farbauti. I couldn’t find candle holders that fit the miniature oil lamps I have, so I made my own! They’re round holders, shaped to fit the oil lamps, and each has a separate disk it rests on for additional stability.

Corner Altar for Laufey and Farbauti

The images are from The Giants’ Tarot, a cooperative project organized by Raven Kaldera.

The leather book is an art project in progress: a miniature handmade book from Estonia that has exactly 26 pages—a title page, and one page for each rune of the Elder Futhark.

Laufey is actually looking directly at the Loki candle and his part of the altar:

Laufey and Farbauti Altar, Wide View

A pleasing family tableau!

“Always go to the funeral” means that I have to do the right thing when I really, really don’t feel like it. I have to remind myself of it when I could make some small gesture, but I don’t really have to and I definitely don’t want to. I’m talking about those things that represent only inconvenience to me, but the world to the other guy. You know, the painfully under-attended birthday party. The hospital visit during happy hour. The Shiva call for one of my ex’s uncles. In my humdrum life, the daily battle hasn’t been good versus evil. It’s hardly so epic. Most days, my real battle is doing good versus doing nothing.
In going to funerals, I’ve come to believe that while I wait to make a grand heroic gesture, I should just stick to the small inconveniences that let me share in life’s inevitable, occasional calamity.”
“Always Go to the Funeral”, Deirdre Sullivan, NPR

My family members are apparently unable to die at a reasonable time of day or year—the hours between 1:00 AM and 5:00 AM seems preferred, and the nearer to Christmas Day (my paternal grandmother managed to hold out so she could die *on* Christmas Day, not kidding) or someone’s wedding, the better. My dad died the week between my birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary, thus creating a shadow on not one, but two, special dates.

All these winter deaths mean winter funerals, and by God we are going to do the graveside service after the church service, who cares if the windchill makes it five degrees below zero. And winter funerals also mean driving in terrible weather, because my relatives are mostly in scattered small towns across southern Missouri.

When my dad died in February many years ago, about 200 people other than family (friends, coworkers, business associates) made the three-hour trek on a work day from the city he lived in to the small town where he was to be buried, and then went to the graveside service in the snow. I was stunned—this was not anyone’s idea of fun, and certainly not comfortable, and there they were, in their formal suits under their winter coats, and galoshes over the dress shoes they’d worn to the funeral home, freezing by the grave with the family.

My mom died Thanksgiving weekend a few years after my dad died (really, holidays don’t stand a chance with us). Again, about 200 non-related people did the long, boring drive on a work day in terrible weather to attend the service at both the funeral home and the cemetery. It was freezing, and *I* didn’t want to go to the cemetery,. and this was for my own mother. But I did, and they did, and I cannot tell you how much it meant to me that some of my friends took the day off from university—the last week of classes—to attend my mother’s funeral.

My grandmother died the week between Christmas and New Year’s (she was moved from hospital to hospice on Christmas Day, but managed to make it through Christmas Day). The grandchild of one of her friends came to the visitation, and brought a class picture from when my grandmother was in second grade. We’d never seen the photo, and had never met the person who brought it. But she hauled herself out on a freezing, snowy evening to share that photo with us, a group of strangers, because she knew it would mean something to us.

My niece’s husband had died the week before (two days before Christmas, I mean it when I say the holidays are not safe in my family), and *his parents*—his mom is in a wheelchair and requires an oxygen tank 24/7—drove three hours in the snow to come to my grandmother’s funeral.

So, unless the funeral is scheduled at the same time as your own, you can go to the funeral.

Old Woman with a Walker
~ H. Edgar Hix

She wears her life like
she wears her lipstick:
broad, too bright, and of
her own volition.