When they’re snug inside their home by the hearth, reading or writing maybe, cooking dinner, perhaps creating art, they don’t expect to die by avalanche. They’ve lived at the base of a mountain for thirty years, weathered all kinds of rain, threat of grass fires, winds, wild critters and snow. But this year, this year a pretty crazy weather pattern hit their valley, my old home town of Missoula, Montana and
By an avalanche
Down the slope
At 120 mph
Her home with her
And her husband inside.
My grief is BIG!
I went to the rainforest to cry with the rain and scatter blessings over the rain spattered pond. Returning home, my breathing was that uncontrollably deep full bodied breathing of grieving, making it hard to concentrate on plowing through taxes. I decided to take my grief to the canvas. Here, unfinished but a healer for me already is Michel’s Angel.
May we all remember to be humble before Nature, to honor its many powers, which, like a god, can kill us. Flood, drought, tornado, typhoon, hurricane and unexpected avalanches on small mountains with fairly gentle slopes are all gods and we are puny before them. But these gods are not wrathful. There is no evil intent.
I am reminded that my life is in Life’s hands, not my own. My best laid plans do not keep me safe from dying.
May we remember the blessing of each breath each moment each day, walking in gratitude and awe from this moment on for the miracle of being in-body and in relationship to one another, connected to the web spiraling round this planet.