Isn’t that beautiful image? Here on the west coast of Canada the Douglas-firs and cedars and hemlocks that cover the mountains and islands rake the sky for moisture. As the rains return in the fall, the trees help the forest drink. Rain showers pass through and for hours afterwards, the trees drip water onto the forest floor, feeding all the understory and the mushrooms that keep them alive.
That image was one given to me by Chris Weaver, a fellow Open Space Technology facilitator and a poet and a friend who spent years on this coast, south of me, in Washington State. I say friend, in a particularly 21st century way. We never met in person, but the beauty of his words, our shared professional growth and our email exchanges from 1998 to 2006 were rich and playful and full of depth. He brought out a part of myself that I loved.
Chris died the other day, the second of my friends this summer to succumb to suicide from depression.
He is being remembered by friends and colleagues the world over, because his death was untimely and his life was one that touched many people very deeply, even if we were not always at his side.
When my father in law died in 2004, he consoled me this way:
my whole heart descends with you to that place of grieving, all interlaced withthe joy of life well-lived – the test so finely and passionately played insun and rain and mud.
it’s funny, i have two pieces of music that are back-to-back on a cd called “the gentle side of john coltrane,” and for some reason when i listen to them, i often think, those two songs are all i need for my memorial. they are about feeling it all, and releasing it all into joy. track 11 is “in a sentimental mood,” duke ellington’s tune, a rare time when coltrane and ellington recorded together. track 12 is called “dear lord,” with mccoy tyner back on the keys, & if my life has a theme song, that’s it.
since you’re taking notes for the event ash, they’re both slow-dances
Well, the time has come for us to remember Chris, and so, here are those two pieces of music.
In that post I shared a vision for my own memorial in which I said that I’d love an Open Space with everyone who knew me to be gathered together to talk about good work they could do in the world. To that idea Chris Weaver simply replied:
“i’ll be there, chris (even if my own memorial comes first!)”
Chris’ words are spanning the globe right now as his colleagues and friends remember him. Cherish these drops of rain. Long after the storm has passed, they continue to slake our thirst.
Godspeed friend. See you at my memorial.
Dear Chris. This is so beautiful, your writing, your remembering, your skillful distillation and weaving and calling forth Chris’ luminous playful joyous dark earth soul qualities and how they touched so many so deeply.
Thanks Christy. I loved those conversations we were all a part of.
I apologize I left out your name in my post to the oslist yesterday; your thoughts and offerings at metaphorest walk were always so rich and poignant. I am going to scan the printout of the blog + comments that Chris sent me after he closed it & will send you a link if you like. with love.
I would love that. He hosted our friendship there.
Chris Corrigan, Christy, I weep with both of you and so many others. I just cannot imagine the sorrow and pain of Chris Weaver’s wife and children and other loved ones who experienced daily life with him. Oh how difficult this will be to adapt to life without him.
I’m so grateful that you took time to share your reflections Chris and Christy, here and on Open Space list. I’ll share here my reflections…
I’m one of the thousands, maybe tens of thousands who never met Chris in person, yet I feel like i know him through email exchanges, reading his material and learning about him. I wept this afternoon when I received the news and read posts of people who loved him – oh so many. My heart breaks as I think about his anguish, and now his wife and children and others in his daily life who love him. The older I get the more convinced I am that to be fully human is to experience feelings profoundly… happy, joyful, sorrowful, anger (at injustice), heartbreak. And to embrace fully these feelings for everything they are and all that come with them. I’m mourning the loss of an extraordinary human being. I’m holding in thoughts and prayers his wife and children and others who will never be the same. But, who will be able to identify, like never before, with others who experience extraordinary losses. May we celebrate Chris and all that he stood for. I wish I would have taken him up on his many invitations to come and visit.
A deep bow and eternal hug to you all… feeling the circles of love and care and friendship that were nourishing and sacred. Christy I would love the link as well. Gentleness to your hearts. So much gratitude…
from metaphorest walk, 9/26/04
prayer to the steadying angel
oh take my hand
how the world glimmers
in the september sun.
how i wander and place my cheek
against the bark of trees, how
i sit and allow my heart
to be carried away by birds.
how my tangents circle and fizzle,
repeating, how a moment of love
scatters me like a seedpod…
So many gifts, from the hearts breaking open, like seedpods made vital by Chris’ life touching ours.
Dear John, your reflections are so moving, and speak my heart as well. Yes, me too, one of maybe tens of thousands of people who never got to meet him, who regret the invitations saved for “someday,” whose hearts are breaking at his passing and thinking about his closest beloveds and their grief. Thank you for the blessing of your wisdom on what it is to be fully human.
Ashley dear, oh yes, I forgot to mention , but it was while thinking of you that I had the idea to scan my printout of Metaphorest Walk (I guess actually it will be a pdf, not a link — I will have a chance to do that tomorrow, or Monday)
It is kind of breathtaking to read it all again. A dazzling threading together of our offerings in the comments plus Weaver’s elemental images into fresh poems. It was all one intimate poem, really, that spanned 4 months (was that all? really?)
Very beautiful writing – although I never knew him.
with love,
Ria
I’m guessing the tears that are seeping down my face reading your post stem from that ‘rain in the forest long after the sky has cleared’. I am yet again aware how this large pool of grief connects us all …
Your post is a testament to the depth and richness of ‘particularly 21st century way’ connections; thank you for watering them by sharing what moves you.
Finally, this blogpost re-ignites my intention to host a first Death Cafe ( http://deathcafe.com/ ) in my home town (Ljubljana, Slovenia) this autumn; to evoke intentional relationships with that liminal space that we are all approaching.
May we keep inspiring one another along the way.
Beautiful. Death cafes are very powerful reclaimations of the lost art of collective human understanding about death and mortality. They are powerful inquiries into the richness of life. Good luck with your first. Much love to you.
The tears and the grief connecting us all… This space you’re hosting here, Chris. Thank you. I’m grateful to return to this page and play these songs and slow dance with you all.
Death cafes that you explain, Marjeta. Wow.
…so much love…