On the Other-side of the Looking Glass

How does it feel to be on the other side Mother?

When I look at myself in the mirror are you standing on the other side, banging your hands and screaming, Sandra I’m here, look at me! Listen to me! Why can’t you hear me?!

That scene just reminded me of that movie Ghost. You know the one where the guy gets murdered and falls in his girlfriend’s lap (demi moore) and his soul follows her around to protect her from the murderer?

Only in this case, neither was mum murdered, nor does she have some unfinished business to deal with here on earth, thus her soul has floated and drifted to the other side...of the mirror or looking glass.

I was swimming in the sea today, freely floating on the surface of the water, trying to imagine what the other side looked like. This is what I could see.

Without a gravitational pull, Sea, Sun, Sand and Sky mixed together like a Tropical Colada. Souls freely floated like ice cubes in a drink, leaving behind streaks of white trails dotted with two big eyes and a banana shaped smile. Just how an elevator’s door slides open when you push a button, Matter splits in two creating a passage way that allows the soul move through. Trees, flowers, fruits and vegetables purely decorate the other side.  In resemblance to the earth, this other side is round, but incubated in a glass ceiling. Souls levitate to the top, without a space shuttle or rocket and observe our earth. Waving their hands from left to right at their loved ones on earth, who sadly can’t see of hear them. How do these souls feel? Just like I long for being with Mother, I am positive that she longs to be with me. The other side may be prettier. Indeed she may be floating and flying. She may be living a life unbound by time or space. But what’s the point of living when separated from a loved one? Indeed the connection will always remain but so will the frustration in inherent in our inability to communicate, separated by a glass ceiling. I know Mother, I wish I could break it too. 

The Supernatural State

Sometimes I can’t believe that you’re really gone forever. That I will never touch, see or hear you again. I’m well trained to think that you are always present in my heart and above somewhere, but do you have any idea how much work is required to be able to really feel the vibrations of another being’s soul?

It requires transforming from a daily humanly state that thrives on responding to desires of the flesh to a supernatural state that meditates on acquiring intangible virtues that lead to spiritual freedom.  A being that is, rather than does.  As I drive from state to state, I get the urge to roll down my window to ask for directions to the supernatural state? Follow your heart is the answer. Aaahh What does that even mean?!  Go left or right are much clearer instructions don’t you think?

Life drives us on a path that is not always straight. The straight path is the familiar one; the daily comforting routine; I brush my teeth, wash my face, practice yoga, shower, eat breakfast and drive to work. The road is filled with bumps, an angry phone call or disappointing email, requiring a reaction. Should I shift gears or hit the breaks? Can you imagine life without those little bumps on the road? Flying through life at great speeds of sound without once looking back to examine, contemplate or reflect.

The road less travelled is the one that meanders in a snake-like fashion. Not only is this one bumpy, but surprises us with twists and turns requiring one to check the map, slow down and take a make decisions, should I turn right or left?  I find myself turning to you, frequently, Mother. I am aware that the answers I hear are purely a projection of my subconscious, but those moments spent with you in treasurely transit are rewarding.

The straight path is too easy, comfortable, known and planned. It’s faster but Mother is absent. Lighter on the gas pedal, I thought, take the more curvature road, not only is it bumpy but also elevated, requiring much more self-discipline and effort. For you Mother, I would do anything. Hit the breaks. Shift gears. And drive along the road less travelled. That’s how I will find you. 

Down Dog; Up Dog

On my yoga matt thoughts of you rush back. In my down dog, I remember the times when I rushed to finish my yoga routine hoping to beat Mother’s wake up clock. We were in the hospital those days. I’d wake up well before you did, meditate, journal write and dive into yoga. I didn’t always finish on time. Sometimes my practice ran a little longer and you were awake. You would start asking for things, breakfast, tea, nurse, open the curtains pushing me out of half moon or the dancer posture.  I embraced the challenge of remaining in those poses you nagged. Rather than seize the opportunity to serve you Mother, I asked you to wait for a few more minutes while I finished my practice.

“Haram 3aleiky” you used to say. Why victimize yourself, I wondered.  “Patience Mother” I ignored. But on my yoga matt today, those moments rush back. I still hear your voice, calling me to serve you breakfast midst my practice. It’s no longer a nagging voice, but a sweet innocent lullaby and two big almond shaped eyes twinkling a morning smile. Only sweet memories of you left behind. But, seduced by your appearance I am not. I remain steadfast in each posture. Some things just don’t change.

Splash Sea Sun; Can a soul swim?

The wind blows, brushing my cheeks and shoulders, hair flies over my eyes unveiling rays of sunlight that brightly illuminate the clear blue sky.  Dearest Mother, are you shining your rays to guide me?

The palm tree dances in the distant and birds flutter their wings across the deep blue sea. How do you move, I wonder. Are you fluttering your wings up above me?  Or are you floating like cloudy smoke?

The waves roll over the beach with a roar, sweeping away the golden sand grains, just like you were swept away.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, where oh where is Mother’s soul?

We pretend that you are in a better place right now because you are no longer suffering bodily, but what about mentally? Are you suffering from mental trouble? It’s easier to pretend that soul no longer feels.  She doesn’t get angry that she can no longer taste deliciously appetizing food. Nor does she long for an ice-cold beer as she watches the waves of the sea sweep up the beach to touch my toes as I sit on the sand sipping my beer. She isn’t disappointed that she can no longer feel the waves splashing against her body as she swims in the sea. Mother, was always a fantastic swimmer. She bravely and energetically swam across to the other side of the pier, so far that she was invisible to the eye of those on the beach.  Today, rather than swim she watched me swim across the deep blue sea, frantically looking for her soul yet enjoying sensational seclusion, a skill Mother had acquired and graciously passed down onto me.

Neither a mirror or thermometer, nor a microphone or hydrophone will allow me to measure how you feel. An emotionometer is what I need. 

Surrender to Good and Bad Forces

Dearest Mother,

It’s getting harder. I feel so stupid writing this. What’s the point? I ‘m stuck between four walls. If I scream at the top of my lungs my voice will bounce back and I like it because this way I can hear my thoughts and tidy them up according to genre. Kinda like how you would organize books on a bookshelf. Group sadness with grief and longing with love. But why is it that some days are better than others? Ask a stupid question get a stupid answer. Asking why doesn’t solve the problem and if you’ve been following my previous chapters, I am (or want to be) a problem solver. Why didn’t I go into engineering or become a doctor? That’s a question I ask myself every day. No. That’s slightly exaggerated. But frequent enough.

I always want to be something, do something, produce or create something. Never satisfied with just being. Breathing. Walking. Watching. Coming home from work is a dreaded task if I haven’t pre-planned the rest of the day.  Without a to-do list, I float around on the ground while Mother floats in the air. Busyness drifts us further and further away from each other. As I cling on to earthly objects like people, tv, food, music her soul moves further away from me as she embraces virtues of acceptance, harmony, love, compassion, contentment and patience. What about movement? Is that an earthly or heavenly thing? I find myself on the go, go go. From yoga, to gym, to Pilates to swimming. I am acive and like it this way. This is how my mother was. But is it healthy? Will it bring Mother and I closer? I don’t think so.

Dearest Mother, can you pack my lunch box with sandwich virtues please? I promise I wont give any away like I used to when I was in school. I never liked those sandwiches, but I understand the true mental health benefits behind virtues.  

Isn’t it funny how on good days the world just seems bright, flourishing and almost perfect? We feel like we’re thriving and passing with flying colours in a journey to the moon and back. Creative. Innovative. Peaceful. Excited. These are all the adjectives I feel on a good day. But on bad days, oh boy does life get dark. Suddenly, all my personal flaws come to mind. I begin linking the sad moments I feel right now, such as being alone at home, with those that Mother must have experience when she was isolated in this big awful house.

What’s the moral of the story? It’s all in you’re head! We create life. We shape it. We choose the adjectives to describe. We represent the emotions we want to feel.

Surrender. Bow down to the forces. And Mother’s force will come closer and closer. 

Tick-Tock; M.O.T.H.E.R

On a good day, when my spirits are high, mind is clear and heart is calm, my mind clock's hands travel smoothly because I am in the driver's seat. I educate my desires and emotions to understand that, even though I can't see, touch or hear her, her soul is present and attentive to everything I do and say. On a good day, my rational mind can tame my desire and emotion. But, I'll have you know this only happens following an episode of picture flipping and tear-filled longing. A very short episode. 

I wouldn't know what happens on a bad day. I haven't had one of those yet. I can only imagine the thoughts and feelings that others might experience. My Grandma is probably the worst off. She stays home most of the time refusing to do anything; read a book, watch TV or go out. Dressed in black she sits in the same corner of the couch all day long waiting for time to pass. The internal dialogue she may be having could be along the lines of; Why didn't it happen to me instead of you? I'm old. I've lived my life, but you didn't. You were so young and beautiful. You wanted to be with your kids. They need you on their wedding day and even more on the day they give birth. Writing this imaginary dialogue makes me sick to my stomach. But it has helped me understand how Grandma must be feeling. Regret, disappointment, sadness and guilt are the oscillating emotions inside her clock's mind. I wonder if a positive emotion ever springs up. Something that signals time to take action. Grandma is not in the driver's seat. The emotional lion and desirous monster are clearly doing the driving. And poor grandma is a bystander. 

That's why I'm here today. I stayed the night following a lunch date that Grandma resisted at first but must have heard Mother's voice somewhere that told her to go out with the rest of us. My aunts, uncle, grandparents, father and sister all sat round a rectangular table. Things went well, but I have no doubt in my mind that Mother's bodily absence crossed our minds at least once. I filled mum's shoes, cracking absurd jokes, being brutally honest and actually investing energy to gather people. Something only my Mother would have done. Next friday another lunch date. And the friday after that. I suppose its our way of commemorating her. I thought of taking a picture of her and placing it on the table. But my sister and aunt faced that thought with resistance. 

What do you think? Is it weird for someone who has suffered a loss to bring a picture of the person, place it on the table and talk to it every once awhile? Would you feel awkward if your friend was that weird person? What about the family of the loved one? Would you talk to the picture in public? Or do you have too much pride to think and act in a child-like manner?

I am a child. Life's more fun that way. 

Mind Clock Ticks M.O.T.H.E.R

Saturday morning, like every other saturday,  I woke up, lied in bed and listened to the hands of the clock go tick tock while I reflected upon the week; who I am, what I've done, who I want to be and what to do to get there. I made a commitment to this self-improvement process a few years ago with help of a journal. It's a grueling task that requires  not only the willingness to unwind the knob that seals a wheel of rotating thoughts inside the mind-clock but also the courage to explore and sometimes fix the inside mechanisms. I borrowed the technique from my glorious mother. She would spend hours lying in bed staring into space, with classical music playing in the background. Aren't you bored I used to ask? Utterly confused at how she bared to sit still while the ticking clock took away treasured minutes out of her life. I was very good at running away from my thoughts. I kept busy doing meaningless acts. But, I think I'm all grown up now Mother. Because I've learnt from your courage to sit with my thoughts in silence and solitude. Without fearing the passage of time. 

Smoke-like thoughts preceded images before mother passed away. But for the past fifteen days, Mother's face is the first image I see supplemented with a gentle reminder that she is bodily absent. Longing to be with a soul feels different than longing to be reunited with a far-away loved-one. Missing a loved one is easily reasoned. When I have enough money, get my work holiday or finish this semester. But, missing a soul requires renewed learning. When I have enough time, I will sit and imagine where we are. When I have enough words in my vocabulary I will describe what I see. When I have enough colors and skill, I will paint a picture. Mother, for you, I will learn how to write, paint and meditate so I can see you clearly.

The worst time of the day must be the few minutes before falling asleep at the end of a long day. On most days, I opt to breathe my self to sleep rather than freeze my thoughts and feelings in a a box of popcorn and TV. Those longing-filled moments are uncomfortable at first but for an all day long busy bubbling bee, thats only natural to feel, when everything is switched off, except the unsurprising sound of tick-tock on a clock. Don't be at all surprised at the before bed time discomfort. It's only natural. Normal. And Non-avoidable. 

Equanimous without Mother

There are two couches in the living room forming an L shape. I lied on the the smaller one that faced the big screen TV. The air-conditioner blew out cold air that obstructed my nose from breathing naturally. My dad lied on the larger couch watching an arabic comedy movie, first night in months. Ever since the January revolution his eyes have been plastered to news and political talk shows. But this night was different. He keeps peering over to his side to see what the frantic typing was about. He must be thinking what on earth is she doing? why is she always so preoccupied? Or am I merely projecting how I feel about him? He must have looked over to my side about ten times. I figure he must be trying to get my attention. Perhaps he wants us to watch this movie together. Perhaps he's using this movie as bate so that we can spend more time together. Maybe he's actually trying. I closed my laptop and tried to watch. I was fidgeting. Too much coffee perhaps. Or is it something else?

I found my mind wondering to that night Mother and I watched the same movie while she lied on the hospital bed a few months ago. I was feeling especially vulnerable that night and quite unusually decided to share her hospital bed so that I could rest my head on her dolphin shaped stomach. It felt soothing. Comforting. Right. Her face carried tiny glasses and a contended smile. Underneath my head and ear I can still feel her stomach ascending and descending lightly with each breath. She held my hand. I asked her questions like a three year old curious child. She replied with gentleness, sincerity and humour. 

But with my dad we watch in silence. He grins and smiles occasionally at events unfolding in the movie, but unceasing tension fills the room. He looks back at me perhaps wondering why I'm not laughing. I pretend. Once. Twice. Three Tears escaped my eyelids. Silently. Practicing yoga regularly has increased my awareness and acceptance of the present moment. Rather than dwell on longing, I appreciate the moment and remain composed. Mentally and emotionally stable. The fountain is dry.  Mother, even though not physically present, I am still learning through you. Learning the power of EQUANIMITY. Thank you. 

Click-Clock, I hear dad's bedroom door close shut only a few minutes after I excused myself from the living room. Why didn't he finish the movie I wondered? Was it because I wasn't there? No need to react to reaction I reminded myself. Just let it go. 

An Enslaved Family of Thinkers

On Sunday, three days after Mother passed away, we held a prayer service in the same room she died. My limited understanding of the arabic and latin language and  my inability to assimilate with the Coptic Orthodox traditions denied me the opportunity to commemorate the  departure of the Mother's soul in union with those present. Filled with anger and arrogance, my mind listened with the intention to respond rather than understand the deeply manifested cultural traditions. 

The Priest sat down to answer questions. He seemed to have an answer for everything. The phrase "I don't know" was like the commonly avoided extra fat on a steak. Personifying a representative of God, the Priest explained the reason God took my Mother away. This is not an exact quote but the explanation was  along the following lines. 

"Sometimes we may ask God to extend our or someone else's life but he doesn't. This is because God can see that it’s in our best interest to die because if we live longer on earth, it is likely that we will deviate from our nearness to God". 

With my heart pumping blood through contracting veins at what felt like the speed of light all the way up to face, I interrupted ever so arrogantly and asked him to provide an example. Kindly enough, he provided an example from the Old Testament of King who lived a long life that pleased the Lord and others. When his life was nearing the end, the King prayed to God to extend his life with an additional fifteen years and God, answered his prayers. But, to the King’s misfortune, he deviated from God serving idols amongst other things. This explanation provides comfort for those who were disappointed at God because he did not answer their prayers that requested an extension to Mother's life. 

But, this explanation provided me with little comfort. An extension of life provides any human being with new challenges and opportunities. How we deal with problems is the what God wants to see. Do we think? ask? repent? harm others? harm ourselves? are we angry? jealous? selfish? or peaceful? loving? helpful? When you are angry at someone who is at harm? Isn't it the angry man? When you fail to forgive someone, who feels sad? Isn't it the unforgiver? When we inflict harm on the self or others life on earth becomes un-pleasurably dark. God graciously provided us with tools or tips to assist us in living in harmony within ourselves and with others. Used properly, the Holy bookS provide us with the power create heaven on earth. Do you think that cutting your life short on earth protects you? Rather doesn't it provide you with more ways to improve upon yourself and to become a better person through repentance?

Mother Loved Life more than Heaven

During the months that led to Mother's death,  Carol and I lived to some degree in seclusion from society with the exception of a handful of family members.  I felt as though my new self embodied the form of a nun, monk or a hermit.  Scripture reading, meditating on the word of God, prayers, and yoga constituted a large portion of my daily activities. The affairs of life were mundane. I convinced myself with help from Scripture readings that the affairs of life were common, ordinary, banal and unimaginative because they only pertained to this world or earth as contrasted with the Kingdom of Heaven. The bible is filled with numerous examples that aim to excite or comfort readers about the nearing Kingdom. I viewed Mother's nearness to the end of the race with jealousy. I yearned for death. I yearned to be released from earthly or wordy desires which according to scripture give birth to sin. 

Thirteen days before Mother passed away, I went on a ten day vacation, cut short to four days due to unforeseen complications. On those four days, I felt refreshed, excited and enthusiastic about life again. There was so much to do, see and learn in the world!  Suddenly, the concept of the nearing Kingdom no longer excited me and Mother's closeness to the end of the race saddened me. Only then did I understand why Mother avoided and feared the topic of death and the nearing Kingdom. My Mother Loved life more than heaven. Was it because she feared punishment? Or was she able to create heaven on earth?

Two years ago, while having a healthy lunch at home in our extravagantly furnished living room, my Mother described her fear of hell and the power of Satan. I consoled her explaining that the concept of hell does not apply to any Christian who believes that Jesus, the son of God, was crucified to save us from the power of sin and to provide us with eternal salvation. "We" I explained "are heading to heaven and need not be afraid." I also explained that I equate the power of Satan with the power of negative emotions. But, from my perspective, no such satanic figure exists.  Mother, shook her head in disagreement. She never could explain what was on her mind in enough words. In  a panic, she raised her voice signaling the end of the discussion and instructed me to speak with a Coptic priest who will have "all the answers". With exception of the sharp raise in voice, this pattern of panic and direction to a Coptic Priest for "all answers" is not uncommon. My father and aunt seem to believe that the Priest knows all.