My friend

I sit in bed looking out at the early morning, the sun waking up the ocean and mountains. People are bustling to work. Birds are flying overhead with tufts of nesting supplies. There is aliveness everywhere. Everything is beautiful. 

Yet, my heart feels wobbly. I feel as if there is hand on my heart pulling tears out of me. My dearest friend, Aksara, passed away yesterday. I cry because I will never talk and laugh with her again. I cry for the sadness of a great many people who will miss her, her husband, her daughter and newly born grandson, and her big Ishaya family.

I met her on a ferry on Georgian Bay in August 2006. I loved how she looked. Unique of course. Confident. Joyful. We shared our business cards. She called me "darling".  We became each other's fans. We visited each other. We spent time on the phone. We linked arms and giggled at retreats. We loved each other as sisters and we both knew it.

Aksara means the "keeper of Om". Om is everywhere and in everything. She was a nester. She loved making a home. She could make a home anywhere  She taught me about realness like the velveteen rabbit was taught by the other toys. She was a mighty real human being. I always knew where I was with her. She told me when I annoyed her. She told me when I did good. I shared with her more acutely about life and and love than anyone.

Once, we sat together in my sauna. We sat quietly for a while. She asked me if I liked my belly. I said no. I asked her if she liked hers. She said no. Everything was okay. And we sat in the silence together.

Aksara, my friend, I will meet you in the silence.