Is there anything lonelier than a progressive with spiritual - let alone mystical -inclinations? I was once the only non-fundamentalist Christian in a homeschool support group, and that was pretty grim. (At one curriculum meeting I got cornered by three women in Tammy Faye Bakker makeup wanting to "lay hands on me") But it's paled in comparison to my experiences as a person of faith - albeit a pretty non-traditional rendering of faith - on the left.
Kyle is one of my best friends. He's chaverim, a comrade, a fellow traveler, as the saying once went. I'm a socialist, he's somewhat further to the left. We are longtime activists and more importantly, maybe, dear friends.
And he's an evangelical atheist, a die-hard dialectical materialist, and he thinks I'm nuts. At least when it comes to my belief in a spiritual realm, that is. Of my other work and beliefs, he's completely supportive and an ally beyond compare. But when I mention my altar, my candle lighting, or my belief that the spirit survives physical death, he worries about me. About my unscientific and irrational impulses, that is, and he dissects my arguments with a sharpened scalpel that could split a nerve.
He's in crowded company. As anyone who reads Kos knows, people with beliefs in the "Invisible Sky Buddy" are not generally held in high regard. That's a broad (and maybe unfair) generalization. But it's not without some legitimate foundation: magical "nonsense" and prayers and all that comes with a belief in the spiritual realm are viewed with about as much respect as the rantings of Orly Taitz.
So Kyle and I went out to dinner. As I've written about many times on Kos, I recently lost a person I loved unconditionally, my friend Will, after an arduous battle with cancer. Will's battles were with far more than cancer, though, as a person with disabilities, he fought exploitation, degradation, and rights violations all his life. I fought hard to get him the best medical care, and Kyle fought with me. He stood with me in many of the battles for Will's rights, and I could not have asked for a finer fox-hole companion. But then Will died, and in Kyle's view, death is like a candle going out. There is no existence beyond the physical.
Three days before Will's death, which occurred in the early morning hours of Wednesday, October 6, I was still planning to take him home and resume caring for him, and continuing his cancer treatments. I asked him if he'd like me to get some music he was particularly fond of. We could, I said, play it and meditate and try to improve the atmosphere of healing in my house (he was living with me by then). He said, sharply, "Maybe after October 5th." October 5th? The date held no meaning to me. I asked him why that was an important day. He said, "I'll be able to do things after then that I can't do now...." Naturally, I wanted an explanation. He seemed irritated - he was very ill by then - and would only say that it was "hard to explain."
Prior to Will's last hospitalization, he had endured a difficult visit with his sister, who lived 800 miles away near New York. She loved him, but drove him crazy at times and stress was not something he was handling well by then. He informed her that he did not want to see her again until November. She was hurt, but planned to respect his wishes. 48 hours before his death, she called me and bluntly asked if she should come out. Despite my tendency to cling to denial where Will's health was concerned, I blurted out the truth, yes, I didn't think he'd survive much longer. And she immediately made arrangements. She was due in at O'hare at 11:11 P.M. on Tuesday, October 5th.
By the morning of October 5th, Will was largely unresponsive. His liver was failing, the doctors said, and they pointed to the numbers as evidence, numbers even I could not argue with. I authorized hospice, finally, and waited, with him, and some others who loved him. By 8 p.m that evening, they'd all left, and I was alone with Will. I was scared, and numb, and in a state of shock, and thinking I could not stand hearing him breath so fast and hard much longer. I longed for his sister's arrival. I was afraid of being alone. The phone rang.
It was his sister, calling from the airport. She'd missed the plane. The next one would have her in at noon on October 6th, the next day.
So I sat up with him, alone. I held his hands and lay next to him. I was in a state of half-consciousness myself, until suddenly I sat up, startled. Something was different. I had no idea what. It was 2:30 in the morning, Wednesday, October 6. Will's beautiful eyes, a shade of blue I've never seen before or since, were open. His breathing had slowed. And then it stopped.
So he did not see his sister after all, and as he'd predicted, everything changed for him after October 5th. And he was freed from the body that had so betrayed him since his birth.
And I told all these things to Kyle, and told him that I felt Will's spirit close, so many times, and that the love we had for each other - a love that was the most unconditional I'd ever experienced - was as real and vivid as ever; I knew - knew like I knew the hand in front of me was a hand and not a panther - that Will lived.
And Kyle was worried about me then and continues to worry. I've cited as many astrophysicists and other scientists as I can on the issue of the spiritual realm and a post-physical existence, as well as my own experiences, but he shakes his head and tells me I am convincing myself of a fairy tale in an elaborate act of wish fulfillment.
I wouldn't bother talking to him at all about this, except that the spiritual realm of my life is incredibly important to me, and he's incredibly important to me, and it's hard to have your dearly held views used by those you love as evidence of your feeble-mindedness.
On Tuesday, my new tarot deck, The Gilded Tarot, is arriving, along with a book about those who have been healed, emotionally, by contact with the spirit world. A lot of rational people might be horrified by this, but really, it's not much different from meditation - a way to gain insight into your own mind, if nothing else. And it's almost Beltane, and I need to remember that and honor it. But I also have to attend the Haymarket re-enactment and work on single payer fights, as well as other "new deal" issues with a group of people I love and respect greatly.
I wish there was a way to feel less lonely in my life. But maybe that's a necessary part of the journey. Lately, I shared this song with Kyle, to try and explain how I felt, on some very profound level, that I'd finished the thing that I was most obligated to do in this world. It freed me, I explained, in a way I wasn't before. He was alarmed, thinking me defeatest , or worse, suicidal (neither is true). On this, we have no common language, and it pains me greatly. But knowing that "My ride's here" doesn't necessarily mean I'm ready to get in that car just yet. Only that when I do, I can do it with a clear mind, a vision of hope, and knowing that it's embarking on a journey to somewhere, I believe, even better.