Reflections by John Tarrant on Gregory Willms death

Reflections by John Tarrant on Gregory Willms death

CASE 55 OF THE BLUE CLIFF RECORD


Sesshin Teisho by John Tarrant RoshiJune 26, 1994  Day OneCamp Meeker, California

A few weeks ago we were here in sesshin and it seems to me that we're still in sesshin.  So this is a very favorable time to go deep; to take another step in the Way.  A few weeks ago Al Einhorn's ashes were on the altar during sesshin and since then I've been to two more funerals.  So I thought I should talk about death today.
Death is something that's like birth and taxes; it's always with us.  Until you can be at ease with death, you are not at ease with life.  Often it's thought that the measure of a person's meditation is whether or not they are at ease with their owndeath.  If, when you're dying, you can say, "Yes," then that is a good thing.  Since you're going to do it anyway, it's not much use saying, "No."  I don't know whether this is a quote of his or whether he made it up, but at the beginning of one of Robert Haas' books of poems, he says, "What shall we do with a beast so enormous, so intractable, so difficult to deal with?"  And the answer is, "We shall praise it."  That is our life, we must praise it.

The two funerals I've been to recently were for Gregory Willms and Anne Aitken.  Both of them knew they were going to die fairly soon and did it well, so it wasn't really a shock.  Let me talk about those two deaths a little.
I realized that Gregory was going to die soon when he arrived at my place with some paintings and stuff that I knew he liked and he started distributing his goods, distributing the objects of his life.  He was kind of into objects, so that was significant for him.  During his last months he spent a lot of time setting things in order, giving little things away to people.  In a way s of unpacking his life.  We spend all this time collecting things and now he was dispensing with them.  While most of us knew he was going to die in a few months, he didn't know he wasgoing to die at that time, but because he had this attitude towards death, that it was his last journey in this life, then he really didn't make too much of a fuss about it.  When the nurse called Gregory's partner, Leonard Gabriel, and said, "We'relosing him.  You better come into the hospital really quickly." Leonard jumped into his car and came in.  The nurse and the physician were trying to stabilize him so that Leonard could arrive and he had been stabilized by the time Leonard arrived.Leonard said, "They tell me that you're dying."  Gregory said, "I don't know.  It's okay."  So they spent the night talking and when the dawn came on he would drift in and out and his speech would get very soft.  When the dawn came on, he roused a little and saw the stars fade and heard the birds and then stoppedbreathing. When I heard I figured probably everyone was still at the hospital, the body was still at the hospital, so I jumped into my car because I had agreed with my friend that I would chant for him.  So I went round and chanted and some other people came around, Roberta.  It was quite a party in the hospital room. Because it's a new hospital and the AIDS wing, they left us alone to do our thing, I guess.  We were in there for hours and chanting.  It was very interesting because it was very easy. There was this very easy serene feeling in the room.  It was veryplain that clinical death does not mean entire death.  You can really feel somebody's consciousness around in the room before it's gone out further.  I began to understand how the Tibetans wrote their manuals of dying which was just by being with a lot of dying people and watching what they experienced and what they noticed.

What I noticed was that Gregory was quite comfortable being there with his friends and seemed to have no impetus to leave.  There was a sense of this benign, amiable presence in the room.  But as we chanted, then something would release and he'd be moving on and moving through.  So one has that sense of chanting somebody through and that the chanting is a very, very powerful thing to do at such a time because it goes so deep into my heart and everybody's heart.  And that was very easy with him. When Roberta's dad died a few months ago, she arrived in the hospital room not long after he was clinically dead.  He had struggled; he had fought very hard for the last two days.  They took him off code, which means that if he died they wouldn't revive him, and he knew he didn't have enough heart muscle left to survive, but he kept himself going.  He started his own heart quite a number of times when it stopped.  Through those two days he struggled while his family was gathering.  He bought some time that way so that he could say goodby to people.  Roberta said that struggle was very much in the room.  As she chanted him through and she didn't have a lot of help because everyone else was not familiar with this concept.  She's sitting there alone with her dad with her meditation beads chanting, talking to him, while the nurse came in to check on her every now and again to see if she was okay.  It was kind of sweet.  She said that the room was much thicker, much more turbulent with her dad, but as she chanted, then everything smoothed out.  His mouth closed, his face smoothed out and he went on.  She could feel him moving away as she kept chanting.  Rather quickly, actually.  Until by the time she left after he was completely cold, he was gone.

We feel the differences in the kinds of deaths people have.  We feel the truth that we shall face this ourselves one day and that those we love will face it.  I think that the great poignancy of human life is that if you don't love, you're the walking dead,and if you do love, it's a contract that either you'll be at that person's death bed or they'll be at yours.  So it's good to become at ease with it and be able to expand the heart around this kind of transition.  This kind of coming and going that we do so busily. 

(borrowed from John Tarrant's website)

Reflections on death

April  26, 2011

Everyone of us reading this, and every person we know are all going to die, and we don’t know when.  This is a simple truth, but not something we bring to our attention very often.  I have been considering death recently as we watched our beloved Himalayan cat fall into a death spiral.  After a week of tests, x-rays and attempting to revive his body and spirit it became clear that Bodhi was dying.  Forcing food and water finally did not work and our efforts to help finally seemed an indignity. He would accept no water, food or touch.  And he constantly sought a cave to lie down in.  It was time to let him go. 

The young Siddhartha wandering out of his palace was struck by the omnipresence of disease, old age and death.  It must have been everywhere he looked in the poverty around him.  These days death is not on our radar very often.  And, it is likely you have not ever even been in the presence of a dead human body.  .  .  . or one that was not embalmed and presented peacefully. 

As I was reflecting on all this I came upon a letter written nearly twenty years ago by a close friend who was a Buddhist and a psychotherapist.  He was in the last year of a life that was being dismantled by the HIV virus.  As I was hanging out with him and being a support, I invited him to “consider his purpose” during these last months.  In response to my question he wrote this letter: 

January 28, 1993

Thanks to Patricia

Thanks to Patricia, I’m finally sitting down, writing.  In particular, I want to record several key ideas that have somehow been distilled in the course of the years that I’ve been dealing with HIV.

For me, one of the most difficult and challenging aspects of this journey has been each confrontation with treatment decisions.  AZT?  PCP? Prophylaxis?  Antibiotics to treat skin problems?  Slowly, I’ve come to realize that THERE IS NO OTHER PATH than the one I am now on.  There is no alternate life out in space in which I took AZT and increased my energy and my life span.  Or sabotaged my own health and died early.  Further, NO ONE KNOWS what the outcome of my decisions will be.  This seems especially true to me now, as all of the men with HIV who were sure of what I should do are now dead.  Seeing this reality clearly, that there is only the life I am living, is sometimes comforting, especially when I am facing another confrontation with a physician and her ideas of what I should do.  More consistently, though, it gives me a solid foundation of reality on which I might build with my day-to-day actions.  

This writing all sounds so dry, in sharp contrast with the moment of panic, despair and rage in which I struggle with decisions of which way to go next.  Of course, I understand all of this as a quite natural expression of my desire to prolong my life and relative health, and my fear of pain and death.  So, if no one really knows which decisions will lead to longer life, on what basis can I make my decisions?  Slowly, and only in retrospect, I am coming to see that the course of treatment I am following are quite consistent with my values, and that the options I have rejected run contrary to them.  More specifically, I see clearly the immense and perhaps irreparable damage that has been done on this earth by the human use of poisons to solve an immediate problem with little or no attention given to the wider consequences.  Many of the standard treatment options that have been urged on me seem so similar.  Take AZT and slow the replication of the virus—but what about the bone marrow?  Use antibiotics to prevent pneumonia from finding a home—but what about all of the helpful flora in my digestive system and the rest of my body?  I see now that the ways I am dealing with HIV are very close to the ways I treat my yard and garden.  I can not say that would never use any toxic substances there, but that is my general guideline.   Further, it would take a lot of talk and research to convince me to do otherwise.  I’ll do the same with my body.  If I treat my body in a way that is consistent with my life and values, in a way I have already “won.”  If I make my treatment decisions only in an attempt to stay alive, I will eventually ‘lose.”

One final bit of clarity that has come my way.  In the last decade, as the pace of the epidemic has increased, I have had my share of opportunities to see the horrors and suffering that can come with the loss of the immune system.  Far too many of my darker dreams and fantasies play themselves out in my own private horror show.  In cognitive moments it sometimes helps me to realize that all of that is not happening now, and that whatever comes it will certainly be a “fresh” Gregory who will do what needs to e done.  Though I know this to be true, it has only occasional power to cut through the delusion of WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN.  Moreover, this delusion is also a product of the natural mind, leading me to prepare in the ways that I can for increasing debility and eventual death.  In its darkest aspects, it reminds me that from a realistic perspective, like many people faced with the final wasting of this disease, there may come a moment when suicide is what needs to be done.  Still at THIS MOMENT the sky is a remarkable blue, diarrhea has finally passed, and I am able to receive these thoughts and haltingly record them on the Mac which dear Leonard has kindly let me use.  Yes, it is ever so useful to be here now!  I have found it useful to finally come to a simple statement of my purpose, that I will do what I can to live well and long until I get very sick.  This statement—so ridiculously simple—has been very helpful to me in rallying my resources to what needs doing now. Future action can be taken in future moments. 

My sincere thanks to Patricia Ryan Madson and Gregg Krech, without whose kind urging and nagging these words might never have come to paper.

Gregory Willms  (photo above)

1/28/1993

  

Gregory Willms died of complications resulting from AIDS in the early hours of June 2, 1994 just as the morning star appeared in the dark sky.  His Buddhist name, given to him at the Sonoma Mountain Zen Center, meant “Morning Star.”

When we allow ourselves to actually meditate on the reality of death . . . our own deaths and those of our loved ones . . . it is possible to find a clearer view.  The miracle of life begins to overshadow any petty problems or issues we face. 

I invite us all to consider death.  The purpose is not to become morbid, but rather to look with deeper realism and purpose into our daily life. 

Patricia Ryan Madson

April  26, 2011

Contemplate Impermanence

Truth or illusion?

"An image reflected in a mirror, a rainbow
in the sky, and a painted scene
Make their impressions upon the mind, but in
essence are other than what they seem
Look deeply at the world, and see an illusion.
a magician's dream."

7th Dalai Lama

The poetry of Maya Stein

It's not change I'm after
By Maya Stein

The way a haircut can reframe a face. The move to a zip code that gets less fog. More of this or less of that – I can think of a thousand ways to prove my eagerness to trade the current reality for its fresh and scrubbed alternative. It’s so tempting to believe a transformation of even minor proportions will be epic, felt somewhere in my deepest deep. But in the interim, we grieve
for what we don’t or can’t have, and that ache is paralyzing. I see it’s not change I’m after, but peace.
Tranquility and rootedness for everything that craves release.



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Blog in transition

In case you are a reader who checks in from time to time I wanted you to know that I will be starting a new blog focus soon. I am contemplating sharing biographical stories. I compiled a list of "indelible moments" and perhaps I will share some of these. Meantime thank you all for dropping in. I'll be back soon.



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Off to Indianapolis

Our love of Stanford women's basketball is taking us to the Final Four. We are on route to Indianapolis where our women will play Texas A&M tomorrow night. Call us crazy. It is sweet to be a fan. Isn't Nneka Ogwumike a beauty? We are cheering for you.



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Day 365: The Circle Closes

Nearly a year ago I started this blog with the purpose of casting a daily eye at the things in ordinary life that serve me and my family. My life has been the grist for this mill.  Sometimes my focus drifted from things to poetry, art, or travel trivia.  This year brought waves of travel adventures: ten trips, as far reaching as Ireland, Sedona, Arizona; Richmond, VA, Los Angeles and Spokane.

My purpose was also about discipline.  I wanted to challenge myself to do something every day. I would write every day, regardless of inspiration.  This proved to have its ups and downs.  On the up side I captured everyday treasures  that would otherwise have been overlooked while I was waiting for inspiration or for "something worthy" to write about.  I came to learn that all of life is worthy.  One simply needs to train the eye.  It isn't necessary to have a shiny thing in front of you. Some of the most thoughtful posts came about when there seemed to be nothing to write about.  The discipline kept the writing muscle going. The down side was that all of the 365 pages of writing went unedited.  And one thing I have learned is that editing is essential for writing to be readable. Every post would be improved with a clear editor's eye.

Somewhere along the way I got the count wrong.  Here it is the last day of March and I find myself on Day 365.  I seem to have lost nine or ten days.  I'll find them along the way as I read over the whole blog.  I plan to use "Blog2print" to turn this into a book.  It will be my diary of the past year as a blogger.  I don't really mind the mistakes.  Those who know me understand my enthusiasm for "making mistakes."

I would like to thank my dozen readers, especially my cousin, Mary Frances Wood and my sister Kathleen Ryan.  I think that Susan Landor Keegan also has checked in from time to time. And, my beloved Ron got roped into reading it regularly.  It has been pleasing to know that someone is reading this.  I am grateful to other bloggers and friends from whom I have borrowed ideas.  We are surrounded by stimulus and recommendations.  If one can sort through the daily offerings on Facebook and Twitter and the "dear gang all" emails that stuff one's boxes there is often gold.  Thanks to others for sharing what they find worthy of attention.

I have noticed that making a habit of looking around for "the things that serve me" is easy.  There is never a moment when I am not in the care of someone or in their debt.  People and energy and objects are at my disposal.  And even in those moments when I find myself complaining I am still being served.  I am in the debt of others.  This computer facilitates my writing.  The Google Blogger app makes this all possible.  My Comcast provider creates the network that allows these words to float out onto the cloud of the WWW so that you may read them.  My teriyaki- broccoli rice bowl nourishes me tonight so that my body has energy to write.  This chair supports my back.  This tiffany lamp lights my way.

When ordinary life is the WAY there is much to do and even more to be grateful for.

Day 364B: Flying high above the earth

Today, March 30, 2011 was a travel day.  Here Ron plays a word game as we wait for our boarding call on Alaska Airlines.  In the past year there have been many changes in US airports.  A majority offer free WiFi.  This allow us to check email, make a post on Facebook, find a poem or new article or check a sports score.  With the world of information in the palm of our hands airport waiting time can become productive or recreative.  I find that I rejoice when I discover the availability of WiFi connections as we move around the world.  I'm sure that someday our young nephews and nieces will marvel at the world  of the past in which you had to drive to Starbucks to hook up your computer or phone to the Internet.  That is, if our natural world lasts that long.  The images of the Japan earthquake and tsunami remind us that there are uncontrollable forces greater than ourselves.

Day 364: Saluting the pioneers of healthcare in Spokane

Our visit to Spokane has given us an extra day to relax and enjoy the city. Although the weather has been rainy and grey I set out for a walk in the River Park today. This city has an exceptional number of public sculpture. This series is dedicated to those pioneers who made the health care system in Spokane. The life-sized sculptures here show a man with a wheelbarrow and a nun with a trowel doing the physical building. I wonder how often we consider those laborers whose work led to the creation of those buildings in which we receive care? Many hands and strong backs made it possible. Thanks to those workers.

Day 363: Beautiful birds and nature sounds

An old friend, Ellison Horne, posted a link on Facebook to this calming video of colorful birds. The sweetness of their bird sounds reminds us of a world beyond our electronic devices. Take two minutes and let nature's magic bring you wonder.  It seems that the bird video isn't available, so instead I post Ron's amazing picture of a black faced laughing thrush taken with Tiger's Nest in the distance.  We were in Bhutan.

Day 362: The many ways of coaching

Our seats at the quarterfinals here in Spokane placed us seven rows up from the Louisville TN players bench. (In the second game we were behind the UNC women). This vantage point allowed us to get a bird's eye view of the coaching styles. The coach for Louisville Jeff Walz coaches by intimidation. Apparently the women are under strict orders ONLY to follow his directions. He screamed into the face of a player "YOU PLAY MY GAME, you hear!" He then berated the player for acting on her own impulses. Throughout the game he did a lot of angry screaming at the players and at the refs. At one point he was so angry at a call that he kicked the table where the officials preside. This earned him a technical foul allowing the other team to make a free throw. A Louisville fan told us that he does this most every game. How sad. There are many ways to inspire and teach. His style full of hubris, ego and emotion seems one of the poorer choices. It makes me even prouder of our own Tara Vandeveer and her positive style of communicating. Stanford did win last night. We beat UNC by a margin of 7 points in the final minutes. We go on to play Gonzaga on Monday night.


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Location:E Grace Ave,Spokane,United States

Day 361: The Quarterfinals in Spokane

The atmosphere here in Spokane is full of sparks as the Sweet 16 teams face off. We are here to cheer on Stanford and hope we continue on to the Elite 8 on Monday night. Spokane is a charming city and the weather is cooperating kindly. The Lady Cardinal went on to defeat first University of North Carolina with a score of 73-65 and a day later we routed hometown Gongaza 83-60. These victories send them to their fourth consecutive Final Four in Indianapolis. What a privilege to watch them shine.





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Location:E Grace Ave,Spokane,United States

Day 360: The smell of a new car

The Madsons are serious fans of Subaru.  For the past two decades we have been Subaru Forester owners.  And so, after 105K miles on our gold Subaru we said a fond farewell and moved up to the 2011 Forester.  This our new car sits proudly in the driveway.  I love the soft grey green.  Sage green, it is called.  We look forward to many happy and safe years of driving this vehicle.  "The Golden Snitch" (the name of our previous car) still sits in the neighborhood.  Ron's sister, Joan, became the proud owner on the day ours arrived.

Day 359: The Best Guide on Bali

Two weeks ago my husband's son,  Jason Madson and his wife Karen (pictured here) arrived in Bali, Indonesia for a two week vacation.  A longtime friend of ours, Dana Lee, who is a professional guide on Bali, agreed to assist them during their visit and help make introductions to "the real Bali" including members of his family.  In addition to touring the island Dana arranged for them to take a class in wood carving from a master craftsman.  Both Jay and Karen are artists and deeply appreciate what it means to be a craftsman in the old tradition.  It is thanks to the kindness of Dana that these special opportunities were available to make their trip a "once in a lifetime" experience.  All hail and thanks to Dana for helping to make this happen.  Here Jay carves a plumeria. 

Day 358: My little teapot

Nearly a year ago when I started this blog I began with a photo of this hand painted mug.  It's my favorite cup and I am rarely far from it.  The little steel teapot came from England.  It's the type used in cheap teahouses.  I love it because it holds just the right amount of tea for one big mug plus a few fingers of tea to top it off and warm it up.  I have a number of ceramic teapots large and small, but I usually turn to this practical, easy to clean steel pot.  I enjoy looking around each day to determine "what is serving me today?"  As the winter storm winds blow this week I am warmed by my tiny teapot and favorite cup.

Day 357: The Restorative Power of Silence

It's four thirty on a Tuesday afternoon. I'm sitting next to our gas hearth and reveling in the quiet. Ron and Joan are both away.  Bodhi is sleeping soundly in his kitty bed. The world seems gracious and good. Few states provide more healing for my spirit than that of silence. Actually silence isn't accurate. There is the ticking of two family heirloom clocks that Ron has going.  They strike alternately doing a gentle tick tock dance. The gas fire has a soft whine and periodically there is the sound of a car driving up El Granada Boulevard.  Otherwise there is a kind of silence.

In this silence my thoughts can rest. I am not pulled by offers to add something to my world or news of the latest update on Japan's tragedy.  I am not massaged by music or song. I can slow my body/mind and troll for what may be important or useful now.  Or I can avoid selection and simply take this now into consciousness.  Silence feels like cool water on my soul. In a noisy world I rejoice in the blessing of silent moments. 

Day 356: Folding Laundry

When I started this blog nearly a year ago my purpose was to cast a spotlight on ordinary things.  Today what comes to mind is laundry.  I have always loved doing laundry.  I find the smell of clothing fresh from a warm dryer to be comforting.  As I fold I think of the service which the item has performed and I often thank it.  "Thanks, dishtowel, for helping to wipe the counters and dry cups."  "Thanks, t-shirt, for covering Ron's body and keeping him dry when he runs."  This might seem silly, but it reminds me of a relationship that I have with the ordinary things in my life.  These clothes and towels DO serve me.  It is fitting that I keep them clean and put them away folded.  
You may notice that the two dishtowels in the front of this photo, one yellow and one orange, are folded differently.  One sits as a square and the other is more rectangular.  This is because I folded the orange one and Ron happened by while I was folding and helped.  He folded the yellow one.  He prefers this way of folding a dishtowel.  In days gone by I would "correct" Ron and show him the right way to fold a towel.  These days I have learned that we each have a right to fold the towels as we like.  There is no "right way" . . .  Life is easier when I don't try and impose my preferences on him.  It's just fine to have things folded differently.  

Day 355: Blow ye winds . . .

This week the Bay Area is beset by storms.  Last night 100 mile an hour winds pummeled our world.  When we looked out on our deck we noticed that our weathervane. a tall copper heron perched on a N/S/E/W axis, had blown down and was lying on our deck next to the pond.   This large sculpture weighs a lot.  It must have taken quite a wind to catapult it from its strong mooring.  It made me think about impermanence.  No matter how well situated, no matter how strong or how healthy we are, no matter how much insurance we have, how much security we have amassed it can all turn on a dime.  Everything can change in a heartbeat.  The Japan earthquake and tsunami reminds us of this.  So we know that it is sensible to put our houses in order and take care of our health, and pay our bills and put away something for "hard times;" it only makes sense, however, to cherish and appreciate the moment at hand.  Thank those who help you.  Acknowledge those whose work makes yours possible.  Go beyond petty squabbles or beefs and make whole torn friendships.  Life can only be lived forward, although it can only be understood backward.  Carpe diem.  Honor today. 

Day 354: NCAA Basketball Championship is underway

Today begins March Madness for the collegiate women's basketball. Ron and I are court side at Maples Pavillion to see round one. Game one is between Texas Tech and St. Johns. Texas Tech has distinguished itself by beating Baylor this year.  They lost, however, today to St. Johns 55-50. At 3:30 today Stanford faces UC Davis at Maples. Stanford triumphed over UCD with a final score 86-59. On Monday night we play St Johns of Manhattan.  What a joy women's basketball is to watch. Go Cardinal.















Happy fans!