was Vipassana-time again and with another Jewish teacher and
his gorgeous wife. I knew I was in for a healing treat. These
people specialized in helping dying people. They called it grief
work. Lots of people showed up for this workshop. It was an
invasion. I mean there are tons of desperate people out there
confronting some really serious shit. This workshop was one
of the most powerful experiences I ever had. For the first time
I was communing with people who understood what I was going
through. I mean these people had loved ones who were also dying.
Many of the people in the workshop were dying themselves. The
big C and AIDS were well represented. I saw people who were
too weak to sit, kind of just lying down at the front of the
teacher would talk. While his wife would just remain silent,
sending healing energy. The couple was terrific. What was the
message? To work on the heart and to open it by releasing negative
emotions. You dissolved them by slowly paying attentions to
them and letting them come up. It was critical to stop judging
them. To stop trying to control anything. To open up to the
pain and just softly notice it. The love and the joy were just
beneath it, if you only had enough mercy on yourself. For in
the heart was the deathless.
finally understood that healing was just that. Opening the heart.
You could die and still be healed. Getting cured physically
was not necessarily getting healed. I realized now that there
was a big difference. I really did. My dad was trying to cure
himself. He didn't yet understand what healing was about. I
breathed very deeply. Now I understood what was at stake. I
felt less confused. I had new energy. The Jewish teacher was
a great healer. So was his wife. She and I became spiritual
lovers for a few minutes. She practiced being a mother of mercy.
long line would develop at her door. You entered and she cradled
you and brushed your hair with her fingers. I noticed her clothes
were wet from all the crying. I felt incredibly privileged to
be with this woman. I was even willing to die for her. As we
sat on the floor together, she told me that work like hers aged
you fast. It was working on the edge and it was sometimes painful.
But it was great work. She told me my dad probably felt like
a failure and was covering it up with a lot of thunder and lightning.
In a sense he was already gone. I had done the most I could.
Actually more than most people. My panic-stricken family would
never be satisfied. The best thing would be to keep working
on myself. I mean everybody deserved love. It was our birthright.