Jeweled Breadcrumb # 28 : a ring of golden flowers prove there is hope for everyone
Could it really be he was able to escape his misery and become something new and beautiful? Touched in the deepest part of myself, I burst into tears, the kind of tears that affirm what I know in my heart. “Yes, it is so.”
Eternity dwells in life’s bones
where fire cannot reach.
The essence of all matter
by nothing can be breached.
i cast my father’s ashes round
high desert’s barren knoll,
where never had i witnessed
a single blade to grow.
But this spring’s turn when thunder
tore storms gray under-thigh
a ring of golden flowers crowned
the barren knoll, I cried.
Meeting the immortal
in my father’s metal ash,
i stumble on the mystery
of life’s essential cache.
Knowing that forever dwells
within my mellow core
what’s the use of pandering
my life for something more?
There’s nothing left to search for
nothing to acquire
knowing i am of the stuff
that is untouched by fire.
My essence is pure substance
of perpetuity.
My substance, ingrained essence
forged for eternity.
When all the “i’s” i recognize
as being separate die
and thirsty fire licks my corpse
still what remains is i.
Essence of pure substance
pure substance rendered rare,
being’s blessed ashes
forever blossoms bear.
Eternity dwells in life’s bones
where fire cannot reach.
The essence of all matter
by nothing can be breached.
Breadcrumb
The phone rings. It is my brother Arthur. His deadpan words belie their content. “Dad is dead. Yesterday we had the memorial service and today we distributed his ashes in the ocean. I stole some ashes and sent them to you.” “What? Why are you telling me now? Why did you not call before?” “Dad made us promise not to tell you he was dying and not to let you attend his memorial. Now that it is over I thought you should know.” I raged. “That shriveled up old man who for months could not get out of bed or do anything for himself still intimidates all of you, demands you live a lie. It makes me sick. I feel sorry for you. All of you.”
Eventually a package from my brother arrives. My adolescent daughter Leela and I empty the contents of a medium size plastic baggie onto the kitchen counter. “This is your grandfather, well, what is left of him.” Neither one of us has ever seen human cremains. Tentatively we touch the grey dust, notice bits and pieces of different size and shape minerals. There is nothing to say so we leave him on the counter while I figure out what to do next.
When in doubt I turn to books of wisdom. In this situation The Tibetan Book of the Living and Dead is the one I retrieve from my bookshelf. The opening lines are meant to be read aloud to the dead person.
O (Ken), Alas! Alas! Fortunate Child of Buddha Nature, Do not be oppressed by the forces of ignorance and delusion! But rise up now with resolve and courage! Entranced by ignorance from beginningless time until now, you have had more than enough time to sleep. So do not slumber any longer, but strive after virtue with body, speech and mind!
I add. “OK Ken, this is your chance. As you hover between here and there (what Buddhists understand as Bardo) you can become the decent person you never were in life.” Then, following the Tibetan tradition, I create an altar, place my father’s ashes in a gold chalice, surround the chalice with paper money representing the power and privilege that stole Ken’s soul in life, and light a candle which I keep burning for the prescribed forty-nine days. I invite Leela to say a prayer for grandpa whenever she passes the altar. I do likewise.
At twilight of the forty-ninth day Leela, my lover Steven and I take my father’s ashes to an oddly barren knoll amidst the rugged buttes of the Northern New Mexico high desert. Every day we walk our three dogs past this hill. I have never seen a single stick or stem protrude from the naked knoll and decide, this is the perfect destination for Ken’s ashes. Climbing to the crest of the sandy mound, we sprinkle fistfuls of ash on the ground as we dance a circle around the hilltop. With Leela banging a singing bowl and Steven ringing a string of bells, I burn the paper money shouting, “Now go, take this opportunity to be free of the wretchedness you were in life. Go and make something better of yourself.”
It was a lovely autumn evening. We walked home, drank wine and I thought no more about Ken, his ashes, his life or his death until seven months later while walking the dogs I notice a ring of tiny yellow flowers crowning the barren mound. I stop, dead in my tracks. “What? How can this be? Nothing has ever grown on this sandy dune.” The flowers are where we sprinkled Ken’s ashes. Could it be? Could it really be he was able to escape his misery and become something new and beautiful? Touched in the deepest part of myself, I burst into tears, the kind of tears that affirm what I know in my heart. “Yes, it is so. Ken is liberated from his wretched state and he has given me a glowing crown of golden flowers to show me he is transformed.” And yes, I brought Leela and Steven back to witness the inconceivable transfiguration.
Thank you for reading these words,
written by grace and the grit of a real human being. Debra Asis
You may also appreciate
What Am I Doing Here In Church : transfiguring a retired priest
INVITATION — will you join me tracing the trail of Jeweled Breadcrumbs? Please add your stories of Jeweled Breadcrumbs in the comments. I will respond.
If you find this post meaningful….
please stay on the site for 30+ seconds & share with friends!
Please clap as many times as you like
Leave your comments or questions! …. I would love to hear from you.
Subscribe on the Medium site to receive an email whenever I post.
Thank you.
The assignment that brings me to the writing of these words is to unapologetically tell the story of how God nudges, cajoles, drop kicks and masters me to be the real human being that I am … becoming … following God’s Jeweled Breadcrumbs. My daily writing challenge for 2025 is to share the Breadcrumbs with you.
You may also visit me at https://www.debraasis.org/
