Holes in Your Bucket

The first time I called David's office and inquired about his services, the receptionist told me, "He sometimes uses tuning forks, crystals, bells, and other methodologies."  I was skeptical, at best.  Having my chakras aligned was something I was only doing at the urging of both my mother and a two-dollar-per-minute palm reader, named Soraya.  She looked at my palm for ten seconds and said emphatically, You MUST HAVE your chakras aligned - you've had a tough two years.  Little did I imagine it would require tuning forks and bells...and other methodologies.  Was I getting myself into some aboriginal ceremony that would cast some voodoo-like spell on me?  Considered further, I had just been through a painful and turbulent couple of years with a stunted marriage and its respective divorce.  What more harm could voodoo have on me anyway? 

I met David in his studio on a Tuesday night where we spoke quietly in a comfortably low lit room for several minutes.  He asked questions the way a doctor does, sussing out the reason I had come to him.  I told him about my recent divorce, but I also found myself telling him details of my life that I had not talked about with anyone.  He listened quietly and intently, with a gentle presence, before having me lie down on the table in the middle of the small room.  David began to survey the seven points on my body, the chakras as they're called, gaging the flow of energy, explaining only very little about what he was doing.  Shortly after he began, I thought to myself, Here comes the voodoo. 

While he worked, David talked slowly about the way energy moves through people - Up the front of your body, down the back and around again, ever-circling us - while identifying any possible misalignments or blockages along the way.  He likened these energy blockages within my body to "icebergs", frozen areas of my life force that kept me from, energetically speaking, "running smoothly".

I watched and listened to David closely.  He was a man not yet out of his 50's, but with an intuitive wisdom and inner calm that draped him like a magician's cloak.  His subdued cheerfulness and steady nature reminded me of a priest, or, better yet, a medicine man.  David's appearance, though, was startlingly normal - beige trousers with a sweater vest and white collar shirt.  His combed-over hair looked like a toupee with its thick, monocolor of an unnatural amber hue.  Before our first meeting, I imagined this person to look much different, perhaps with a clergy-like robe, or some gypsy or hippy type effects, piercings or tattoos maybe, something that on the outside said, This man will melt my frozen energy chakras with tuning forks....and bells.  Alas, no.  His appearance gave off an average Middle America-type persona.  Interesting, how quickly I needed to label him.

But there was something about David.  Something special about him.  He was the kind of guy that could put you at ease with words or his gaze.  He had an encyclopedic knowledge of human energy and chakras and shared incredible insight with me on his views of the metaphysical world.  It was pretty fascinating.  Some of it was hard to swallow, but he made it sound so believable.  And I really wanted to believe.  At one point he said, None of what we think is existence is real.  It brought me thoughts of The Matrix, and wondered if my head was about to be plugged into a port. 

As David began to assess my chakras, his hands hovered down the center of my body, stopping at various intentional points, circling for several moments and then moving on to another point.  When the time was right, he raised his hands in the air, arhythmically tapping and clicking his fingers together, before turning to his notepad where he scribbled numbers and notes that looked no clearer to me than hieroglyphics on an ancient stone wall. 

He turned to me, dangling a crystal pendulum over my abdomen, and said with genuine compassion, You have many holes in your bucket.  Holes in my bucket?  Holes?  Unsure of what it all really meant for me, I knew for certain having holes in places I shouldn't have them sounded like a fairly bad prognosis.  Without intention or control, tiny streams of tears rolled over my temples and down my cheeks.  It wasn't quite as much crying as it was surrendering to the news.  I didn't even know I had a bucket, and the one I had came with holes.  Great.

His back was turned to me as he wrote the last of his notes.  I cleared my throat.

What do the numbers mean?

Well, he said, pointing to the list of numbers associated with each chakra. This is your Crown chakra, related to the head and understanding.  He pointed to the number, let's say 9.

In comparison, he ran his finger down the page and stopped at -3.

This is your Sacral chakra. It is associated with human pleasure and sexuality. 

Similarly, my heart chakra - linked with love and compassion - also received an implausibly failing grade.  He went on to explain that these were the areas which required the most attention and realignment.  That in order for the energy to flow through my body in a healthy way, these needed a lot of work.  It made sense. 

I signed up for several more sessions with David.  I saw him weekly for five more weeks, each time noting in short form what might be on my mind that day before reclining on the table for some more Voodoo-tuning fork ceremonies.

To this day, I am not quite sure what David actually did.  I don't understand the things that he seemed to believe down to his very core.  And that's okay.  Every one of those six times I left his studio, I felt a growing euphoria that was so tangible that it felt like it dripped from my skin.  I was unmistakably grateful from within.  I was okay with the unknown because it worked for me, without explanation or reason.

My sessions with David ended and about three months later, he called me out of the blue.  He wanted to know how I had been and if I would be interested in having more sessions with him.  I declined.

David, thank you for everything you did for me.  It was truly remarkable. 

He simply said, You're welcome.  And that was the last time I spoke to David. 

About a week before I was moving back to Boston, I passed him on the street.  I recognized the comb-over toupe hair and his friendly face.  He was standing there on the corner, not moving or going anywhere in particular, and we locked eyes.  I continued to walk by him without saying a word, but his expression instantly read that familiar, I've got your back, sort of look. 

Reflecting

I cooked lunch and knew the apartment had been quiet for too long.  She was in her favorite room in the house - my bedroom.  It is a mature and luxurious realm for a 9-year old's tender mind.  To her, it's a wonderland of big-girl cosmetics, pretty colors and adult furnishings, girlish pieces of clothing and jewelry slung in seemingly random places, and a large mirror which had been lowered to accommodate her height. 

She is so sweet and young that putting on her "big sister's" makeup is a splendid experience.  Admittedly, even being in my (hehem) late 30's, having the occasional opportunity to reach into my best girlfriend's cosmetic bag to use something new-to-me can be a small excitement.  It's interesting that, even though there's a margin of 30 years between us, my little sister and I are not that different:  We're still both girls. 

Noticing the atypical quiet in the house, I tip-toed into the room to catch a secret glimpse of her clandestine activities.  She stood there, reflecting on herself in the mirror.  "Don't look yet, Alyson.  Don't look!", she said adamantly, as if she were planning a grand unveiling of her masterpiece and I couldn't sneak a peek one second before.  I agreed to not look until she was completely done and took a seat behind her on my bed.

What I loved more than anticipating the lavishly-applied lines and colors on her face, was that I noticed she had slipped her feet into a pair of my linen high-heeled shoes.  No doubt what attracted her was the feminine bow at the tip of the shoe.  I also noticed - she still had the same socks on that she had just hiked in one hour earlier and that her tiny, but growing, foot was dwarfed by the size 8 1/2 adult shoe. 

Once she was ready, she took her final stroke with the brush and turned around in a dramatic swoop to let me admire her.  Like an artist, she was so proud of her work - and, you know, she looked pretty good.  I smiled and gave approval of her makeover and we began to adjourn for lunch. 

Just before we left the room, I turned to her with my camera and thought, I never want to forget this sweet, innocent moment.

A Eulogy for Nonna

A lot of people will give you advice about writing someone's eulogy:  Don't speak too fast.  Remember to speak loud enough.  Don't worry if you get emotional.  Keep it to 2-3 minutes.  Just speak from the heart. 

What I found out from the process is that you never know where to begin or where to end or what's in the middle because summing up someone's life in front of grieving loved ones in a span of just a few minutes is not very easy. 

Like a lot of writing, your first sentence, which you might initially think is brilliant and poignant, could ultimately get scrapped.  You could end up writing a collection of anecdotes from family memories that would make very little sense to anyone but yourself.  You could search the internet and google your loved one's name and see what turns up for inspiration.  You might even find old stories that show your loved one with a well-known diplomat and wonder what it was like to be standing next to them. 

And then you could ponder how your retired and widowed, 60-something year old, white-haired Grandmother became an activist and avid rally leader when, to you, she was your sweet and loving Nonna.  You may even recall memories of playtime and cookie baking, story-reading and simple games.  You remember hide-and-seek and fruity pebble cereal, ice cream cones and Buttonwood park.  And then you see a series of yellowed-paper articles written about her that read words like "passionate" and "activist" and "rallies" and "leader" and wonder how, as a kid, you could have missed this sort of other-life.

But it makes total sense to me now.

Women are not simple creatures.  We posess an inward-outward life that makes being a lady deep and sometimes complicated.  We are warriors and leaders to the outside world but to those who know our hearts: loving, giving, and vulnerable. 

And that's where writing a Eulogy to Nonna began.

When someone that we love leaves us, we cannot help but to feel sorrow.  But today is not a tragic day.  Nonna’s long life is one to be celebrated and remembered.  It was one that was filled with happiness, love, and laughter. 

She was a loving wife, she raised an incredible son, my Dad, Dutchie, and she was an exceptional grandmother, a doting auntie, and a caring friend and neighbor.  She was a true lady, in every sense of the word.  The world is a better place because of her having been in it. 

Outside of her family life, Nonna was a passionate activist.  She cofounded the Mass Senior Action council, an organization that she was extremely passionate about.  More than 30 years later, the council now has over 1000 members with the same purpose - to help others in need.  She rubbed elbows with presidents, senators, and diplomats.

On the battlegrounds of the many legislative and grass roots committees she was involved in, she was a woman of purpose and fierce determination.  If you have the opportunity today, I encourage you to look at some of the photographs of her in action and see if you don’t agree.  She was a force to be reckoned with and a woman who fought for her rights and that of others, displaying strength to give rise to change.  I respect and admire this. 

But in her home, with her family, she was caring, generous, and sensitive, even sometimes vulnerable.  The love she had for her family was paramount, and in my opinion, her best accomplishment. 

This, I believe, is the true heart of a woman – determined and steadfast yet gentle and loving.  This was my Nonna.

She has departed us in the same way that she lived – with dignity and grace.  If she is looking on us now, she is surely overjoyed, if not a bit humbled, to see all of us together today rejoicing in her life and her spirit.