I remember two moments distinctively. The second was when my mother died on the island of Ithaca. She had always been deeply attracted to the place, albeit for different reasons than mine, but there is no doubt she had a special attachment to it, and went home there to die. The morning after her death I went down to the beach alone. Deserted, barren, the sand being lusciously and mercilessly pounded by the cold Atlantic surf, I stripped off my clothes, something I never would have done in her presence, and dove into the frigid midnight blue, crystalline beneath the waves. The moment my naked body sliced through the surface, stung and invigorated by the bracing October cold, I felt and sensed and saw her spirit take wing above me, seemingly coming from the vicinity of her house at the far end of the pond, racing down its length and passing closely overhead, diving at me briefly like a gull intent on catching a fish beneath the waves, and then beating a path for the heavens through the sea spray and scudding gray clouds, as if blessing me, baptizing me and saying goodbye, all at the same time. This was no coincidence and no figment of my imagination. The spirit was real, and the timing pre-ordained, my nakedness and immersion somehow reflecting or recalling my birth, confirming my re-birth and reaffirming the deep bond between us, despite the years of a difficult and fraught relationship, and signifying the moment of my complete freedom, to live life on a course of its own, loved but not confined by my mother’s dreams and struggles, defeats and victories.
The first moment, though less dramatic, was equally powerful and came at another turning point in my life, the day after the birth of my daughter. Early in the morning I went down to the beach to greet the new morning and to give thanks for the arrival of my angel. It was quiet. I was alone – no people or even seagulls to disturb or share the tranquility. The water gently lapped the shoreline, barely making its presence and power known. The sun gently inched toward the horizon, turning the deep blue sky into a pale and luminous gray, then progressively a darker and brighter blue, until the edge of the sun itself shot its piercing golden spears over the horizon, illuminating the earth like nothing else, and announcing that once again, it was in control and sheer domination of all that breathed on the earth and sea. At that moment as is I drew in a breath, I drew in the sun, I felt it pierce my heart and sear my body to the earth, and lift my body until I floated above the sand and sea, suspended between earth and sky. At that moment the shear energy and luminescence of the sun infused my body and drenched every pore and cell, signaling its strength and dominance, and telling me that my life would be forever lived on the edge, in a transition zone, a zone of instability and incredible opportunity, an area full of challenge and adversity yet also full of richness and diversity, the chance to experience life at an extraordinary level and intensity, being both a participant and an observer at the same moment; a life that would be both difficult and painful in many respects, yet also full of wonder and transcendence that would always be enough to counterbalance or numb the pain, at least until my spirit finally gave up to join all the spirits who had taken flight before.
Strangely, and perhaps wisely, I had no premonition of either moment, no sense of need for a transcendent moment, in the aftermath of these two seminal experiences of birth and death. They just happened, but yes, they seemed pre-ordained and extremely significant. Only today I put these two moments in juxtaposition, and realized to some extent, that they are bookends of my life, and at the same time doors or windows to my own soul, my own trajectory, here on this earth and perhaps beyond.
Perhaps the central and revealing truth of both these moments is that I don’t belong, and have never belonged, and will never belong, to any person, place or time. I am a middle child, and no doubt there is an old wives’ tale or psychological construct that says that the middle child is always the peace maker, the bridger of thoughts and emotions between older and younger siblings, between parents and their kids, someone earmarked to understand and appreciate, or at least know how to interpret and negotiate, the particular pathologies of the older and younger siblings, between the masculine and feminine, between the id and ego, between different and divergent cultures and sensibilities and realities.
Perhaps the other central and defining reality, suggested or reflected by these moments, is that I have never quite felt myself as having a single role or experience of life. At the same moment that I am a participant, a player, an actor on life’s stage – a live human being who experiences intense passion and emotion, pain and ecstasy while experiencing and living life – I am also an observer, a critic, someone in another zone, another level, attempting to analyze and understand the particular parameters of the equation or chemical construct between the two or more people involved in a given moment in life, that illuminates and drives the relationships and interactions between the players, even when I am one. I feel both lucky and tormented to be both in and out, a participant and an observer. I am often bewildered by the intensity and passion of the moment I am living through, and then moments later, or sometimes at the same time, I feel completely free, untouched and unfazed by the crisis and complexity of what is going on before me and within me, outside of me and estranged from me and to me. How is it possible that I can be an intimate player and a neutral non-participant?
Now, as I near the farther end of my life, I am drawn to try to understand who I have been, what I have accomplished, and what I have yet to contribute and achieve. My life has been rich beyond measure and beyond my expectations. I have lived conformist roles in a somewhat non-conforming way. I have always been self-driven and self-motivated, but sometimes without direction or with too many directions; focused and lost at the same time, forging ahead on a clear path, yet not knowing if or when it will take a sharp turn or even back-track. At least life is not dull, though I imagine, I know, it is difficult for those who have been and may be my spiritual and physical partners, the women in life. And yet, despite their importance and their life force in my life, I believe we live and die alone. Yes, with the important input and support of many others, but also on our own, on our own terms.Someone, some power, decided for me that my life would be lived between earth and sky, in a transfer zone, between and mixing the spiritual life with physical and intellectual life. But in that zone, I have been marked and pushed by my early experiences, and have devised and altered the course of my life, because of and through those originating experiences and those I chose and developed and lived as a sole soul.