The fog is in and outside my home I see the redwood tree and the oak but other than that, I’m gently tucked.  I hear the fog horn and the cackling caws of crows.

Lately, friends have lost their mothers and I find myself remembering back to my own mother’s passing February 18, 2005.

Loss of mother is loss of the womb in which we were conceived and nurtured.  When mother goes, we’re dropped into, or perhaps opened into, a larger womb, and still there is the pain of squeezing through that canal and trusting the opening out.

After she died, I went each week to Pierce Point, a piece of land in Pt. Reyes that divides Tomales Bay and the ocean. Tomales Bay divides two tectonic plates so one can be on the plate carrying Los Angeles north, or the other.  For me, it is the place to be when someone I love dies.

And then like that, the fog clears – the moon a slice in the sky – a stanza – a poem

pierce point   

mother dies 

I cross to this land mass
each week
wanting connection 
with the other side
I feel her here with the Tule Elk -
Tomales Bay -  ocean waves - 
her death a gentle quake-
birds sang as she died
quivering
as she passed -

With the passing of Thich Nhat Hanh, I’m aware of the portal between life and death as though yes the plates slide open for us to see.  I’m with his poem “Call Me By My True Names”.  May the cultivation of compassion and empathy be our guides.

The fog clears
And clears

And clears

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