I was telling my friend …

… about my Godmother, Karin, on Monday.

We were one one of our hikes where we download our troubles through belabored breath …

up … our joys on

way the                                                             

the     way                                                                                           

… on  down.

Karin opened my eyes to life possibilities and instilled me with the ideas of consciousness and self I have come to embrace. Karin is the perfect Godparent.

—

I got to see her shortly before she passed away in March 2019. Though her impending passing showed in her withering body and sunken eye sockets; Karin’s eyes and words radiated gleeful anticipation for her “transition”.

I hope I am filled with such joy and gratitude when my time comes.

—

Rearranging my space this morning (Friday) I picked up a book I started and didn’t finish years ago: the Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon.

I flipped the book open to see where I had left off. The book was bisected by the only photograph I have of Karin and I:

I am 4 or 5 years-old; sitting in the passenger seat of her late 1970’s Olive Green Fiat convertible; Karin is in the driver’s seat with a smile as wide as the sky.

Though our teachers  are in our midst for fleeting moments on this plane; their teachings can live on forever.

—

“As long as there’s one person on earth who remembers you, it isn’t over.”

— Oscar Hammerstein