Awen: A letter to dear Rex

“Awen”, the breath of inspiration. A welsh word describing the breath that awakens the creative flame of the universe. Also called the mark of the shaft of light, derived from the three main rays of the sun at dawn.

I have felt inspired to leave three roses at your grave since you passed. The deer that frequent down from the mountain, on which you made your home, keep eating the buds off of them throughout the winter. I don’t mind, I’m sure you don’t either. The idea of them milling around your headstone is lovely in so many ways. 



Three roses. I don’t know why, it just feels right. Maybe, one for your home, family life and the garden you tended there, maybe one for all the loved ones at CottonTree and maybe one for the work we did together...and then I read of Awen; the three shafts of light at sunrise, the breath of inspiration, and the resurrective quality of a new day.

Such Sacred inspiration, today was no exception. Started out ordinary as they all do, with a sacred strand that is seemly tying them all together since last summer. I don’t know how many days I have left to walk this earth. I believe I will be able to raise Tom, and from there who knows. Either way, you have taught me the precious nature of each moment like no one else, both with your life and the way you communicate through me across the veil. I never could have dreamed myself into a space like this; yet there is also bereavement, and I am alright with that too, you are worth it, as we each are.

A couple of weeks ago I was watering your plants, as I have since your passing. Your English Ivy has grown quite a bit. I knew it was time to trim it back, as I had seen you do so many times in passing between our offices. My heart couldn’t stand to part with these leaves that were here when you were too in body, not so long ago. The thought of trimming them back, felt like letting more of you go than I could bear, yet your plant was here, needing pruning to stay healthy.

I did it as you would have me do, but couldn’t bring myself to put them in the garbage. So I got an empty flower vase from our cupboard and filled it with water and took them into my office, with the intention that once the roots grow, I will plant them in soil to keep a bit of you close by, as I do the work we used to share.

So today I finished teaching class and went into my Thai office to prepare for my client, who was running late. In these few quiet moments, I took comfort in your ivy clippings in the vase, and decided to read for a bit from an Elizabeth Barrette Browning book of poetry. You told me to study her life and poetry, when you came to me in a dream not too long ago. Of course people keep giving me her sonnets. I just smile and say thank you, three copies now, all from you.

I turned to her last sonnet, number 44, never read it. I chose it because it is my age, and here I found you speaking to me again:

“Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!---take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.”

Bless you Rex, I thank the Lord for you. Today you made my everyday-sacred, more sacred still.