Dear ones,
I knew I’d almost certainly write my summer solstice update a little late, as it was right in the middle of our Wayward art retreat.  It was a power week in so many ways.  Wayward is always a mini cosmos that is all-absorbing for me as host and co-organizer.  This Wayward, besides summer solstice, encompassed the birthdays of THREE retreaters, amongst birthdays of dear family members, and also held Juneteenth, a full moon, National Indigenous Peoples’ Day, and the June 22 memorial of my longterm bodywork and movement teacher, Brenda Dempsey.  It was a moving and beautiful commemoration of her not so long but very caring and action-packed life, with inspiring and hilarious stories of her dedication to adventure, spirit, and care for the bodies we inhabit.  Her family sent her ashes out from Rebecca Spit near sundown, with love and rose petals, and big, poofy peony blossoms.  I carry the vibrant image of her little granddaughter hurling a big handful of petals overhead into the sunset, calling out, “Hasta la vista!”  It certainly felt as though many experiences peaked along with the daylight this June.  The following week I got covid, then recovered in time to host 2 amazing HelpX guests from New Zealand, take a wetlands course, snorkel and boat and see whales and an octopus, and try to keep rolling through summer.

The compass points of the seasons have long felt like compelling markers to set life to, even when I miss one, so it feels worth getting this update out while the sun is still casting long rays over ripening tomatoes and nearly finished nectarines.  CawsMos’ and Nebula seem to be on their own now, their four offspring presumably out in the world cawsing trouble somewhere.  We had nearly a week of rain in late July, when my sister arrived from New Zealand, and another good stretch in late August, much of it during our qi gong retreat, which emphasized the cycles of the year along with the cycles of of the body. 

Dearest Brenda,
I was hoping to visit you tomorrow on my way to Vancouver, to a craniosacral class.  Cristina called and let me know it was a good time to send messages now - so I’m so grateful I can send something through the airwaves.  

As I’ve meditated on the many ways your light has shone on my life and others’, it feels like oh so many ripple effects of care, groundedness, truth and healing.

From my earliest memories of you teaching qi gong out in sunny Bold Point lawns, to yoga retreats on Read, you’ve always reminded us in word and in embodiment to connect lovingly with our bodies, with the world around, and with the universe.  It was never pretentious, always encouraging, always a group support and collective adventure.  When I teach qi gong with cranio classes, I have the blessing of many special influences, but above all I think of you and the realness of your connection with the universe around.

This next journey is a deep and powerful one, and mysterious.  Someone in a recent cranio session brought up Mary Oliver’s poem on expecting death, a really touching one, I shared with S’s mom and she became fascinated with it, and we talked about it a lot.  We talked about the mystery, and also how hard it feels to leave our known ways of connecting with the world, with loved ones.  I sometimes compared it with leaving home to teach a cranio class - I know many exciting new experiences are ahead, and I'm so curious about what comes next, but it's so hard to leave home and the garden and my dog and dear ones.

One connection I feel most strongly as I get ready for you to leave, is how the ripples of all the care and teachings you’ve shared in your communities are alive within us and carrying onwards.  So many people moving, speaking, and being with greater connection to themselves and to others, connecting to their bodies with love and care, sharing your truths and your genuineness, and the teachings you found most precious from your teachers, in daily moments and movements, in times of transition, in acts of care for one another and for this beautiful world.   In so many conscious and unconscious ways your teachings have become a part of my body, my thoughts and wishes, my aspirations for life and aging beautifully, for working with others in the best and most real ways I can muster.

Tonight as I began writing, R came in to tell me the wolves were howling across the valley.  We crunched through the snowy yard to the porch, where we found we had to stand in a certain place hear their multiple, swooping voices echoing distantly across the snowy forest, tree branches glistening under the stars.  We huddled close in the cold and I listened, feeling the wild beauty, mystery and connection of that moment.  I don’t know what mystery you are joining, but I want you to know I am so, so grateful for my connection with you, and even more so grateful for the connection you share with this world.

So much love and thanks Brenda for all you’ve shared, and all you continue to share.