Love After Death

Tonys Memorial Service (photo: John Patriquin)

I was 41 years old when my husband, teacher, and soulmate died of stomach cancer at the age of 75. When we met, Tony was a world-renowned mime artist and I was a professional ballet dancer. Right away, we started combining our art forms and performing together. In effect, I hitched my wagon to Tony’s star and we made a good living performing in schools and theaters around the world. When Tony died, my wagon was rudely unhitched from that star. Theaters did not want to hire me without Tony. Schools started focusing on STEM subjects (science, technology, engineering, and math) and the arts were cut from their budgets. Then my car broke down.

When my car broke down, it triggered an old, pre-Tony tendency toward depression. I wandered around the house like a zombie for a few days. People worried about me. One day, incapable of doing anything else, I lay down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. Right away, a full-blown sentence came to mind, Karen, stop thinking about yourself and think about what you love.

My response was similarly immediate and unexpected. I thought of Golem from the Lord of the Rings movies. What?! I had not thought of Golem for years — not since seeing the first movie — but there it was loud and clear: I love Golem. Actually, I do not love Golem so much as I love how he moves. There is something perfect about that movement – a “something else” kind of perfection. My depression lifted instantly.

A few months later, I was depressed again. This time, I wandered outside the house. I live in a fairly remote location so, as far as I know, nobody saw me standing outside in my pjs calling out to no-one in particular, “What is my purpose?! What should I be doing?” Suddenly, it was as if two hands took hold of my head and turned my face to the ground. Right there in the dirt, I saw a tiny little flower and, clear as a bell, I “heard” it say, Your job is to notice me. That’s all you have to do. Again — poof! — the depression lifted.

I have a theory now about the relationship between moments and continuums. Moments and continuums co-exist and you can’t have one without the other. Moments do not stop the continuum; they keep it going. For example, my Golem-moment and my little-flower-moment, sustained me through the continuum of daily life. And just when that continuum threatens to paralyze me, another moment happens to keep me going.

Over the years, I’ve come to equate the continuum with the human condition and the moments with the human potential. Once I started identifying with the moments rather than the continuum, I became better able to function in the continuum.

DEFINE EGO

A friend once asked me to define “ego.” We talked about the ego a lot, so I was surprised when he asked me to define the term. Just then (another “moment?”) a sentence came out of my mouth that we both liked. I said, “The ego is the belief that we are separate.”

Tony and I were married for 15 years and, during that time, I took every one of his workshops. I cannot tell you what I learned in any of them. All I know is that I felt more comfortable in the world after each one. That pervasive sense of alienation – of not fitting-in anywhere – was gone.