Months went by since my last blog post that ended with the word “completion”. To continue writing this blog seemed – pointless, somehow; irrelevant. Said my mind. Then my heart chimed in, and a big wave of feelings carried me into writing the following post. When writing happens like this I know it is the truth that wants to be shared. So here it is, completion or no completion:

Beloved Steve,

you died. And I am still here, alive.

I so wish that I could tell you that miraculously and despite the grim prognosis I am thriving and able to cultivate joy in my life after overcoming the deadly cancer. Remember when in our conversation during what was to be our final night together I said that it was a serious possibility that I would die before you? That I thanked you for all the good years we had and the fun and love we shared? And then you did not come home the next evening; instead, the police. We are so sorry, Mrs Carter. Steve has been shot dead.

I wish I could tell you that my hair grew back blond and long, after the period of baldness without eyelashes, eyebrows and pubes that you last saw me in, and that it was followed by grey curls and ever so soft fuzz on my face. A friend lovingly called me her Wolverine. My body is still slim and fit, just as you had always imagined, my skin still as soft and smooth. You will never get old, my love, you said, you will always be a beautiful woman. In a few days I will turn 58, and your words echo loudly and lovingly in my heart.

I wish that I could tell you how very sad I am that you never got to experience your dream ‘retirement’. You had wanted so much to surf, do yoga, chill out, spend quality time with friends, go to the beach, every single day, to enjoy the beautiful tropical paradise we created together. The more time passes, the better I understand your deep, deep longing for all this. When you were by my side in California during the cancer treatment, you told me your biggest fear: that you would never return to Costa Rica. Nobody could have known that this would be so. The sacrifice you made to be with me when I needed you the most; even more than five years after your death, it is still sinking in. My heart is breaking remembering those moments.

I wish I could tell  you that every single member of our combined families, all our friends, indeed our whole tantric community came through for me, for us, and they have given me so much love and support, in all kinds of ways. That I was not alone on this journey of having to come to terms with that happened. There has been nothing but kindness even in the small, somewhat remote Costa Rican village where I thought I knew nobody! Your light shone so brightly in places that I only discovered when you were gone. So much love.

I wish I could tell you that Coco survived the shooting, that she fully recovered, and that she is a very happy dog. She wildly chases – but never catches – pizotes in Costa Rica (or rabbits in Germany), barks at the vultures and goes mad at visiting howler monkeys, not listening to me at all, entirely forgetting her training. And suddenly she is here, fully alert by my side – sitting, staying, leaving things on the ground when I say. She has been the finest companion, helping me with her unconditional vibrant presence to survive this horrible tragedy and have courage and joie de vivre. She is nine years old now, and has grown into an almost regal maturity.

And I wish I could tell you that our 11-year old nephew in Denmark is convinced that your spirit, your soul, transferred into Coco the moment you died, still holding on to her on her leash. Maybe it is true? Our Coco, the Wonderdog. Anything is possible.

Finally, I wish I could tell you that I found my path into continuing to teach our beloved Tantra and to coach couples, enthusiastically so and solo, that I love this work, that I miss you by my side when I teach but that you are somehow always there. And yes, I wish I could tell you that I learned enough Spanish not to sound like a local toddler anymore!

As the days and nights go by, and one year melts into the next, the grief fades away, the dull ache of living without you dissolves into the background. The wheel of life keeps turning and turning. I know for sure that death is ever only just one breath away, if even that, and the next moment might very well be our last. My life has become that.

My love, I hope that in some mysterious way you will receive this letter, this message, and know.

Your wife, beyond time and space, forever.

Lokita

“Remember that life is really fleeting, slipping by…so momentary. We live in a magic world. We go on deluding ourselves. Again and again the delusion drops. Again and again reality erupts. Again and again somebody dies and you are reminded that life is not reliable, that one should not depend too much on life. One moment it is there, another moment it is gone. It is a soap bubble – just a small prick and it is gone. In fact the more you understand life, the more full of wonder you are about how it exists. Then death is not the problem; life becomes the problem. Death seems natural. […]

And death is coming to everybody. We are all standing in the queue, and the queue is continuously coming closer to death. She disappears; the queue is a little less. She had made space for one person more. Every person dying brings you closer to your own death, so every death is basically your death. In every death one is dying and coming closer to the full stop. Before it happens, one has to become as much aware as possible.

If we trust life too much, we tend to become unconscious. If we start doubting life – this so-called life which always ends in death – then we become more aware. And in that awareness a new sort of life starts, its doors open – the life which is deathless, the life which is eternal, the life which is beyond time.” ~ © Osho, gratefully excerpted from The Passion for the Impossible, Talk #14

 

 

 

The nature is glorious, the plants are vibrating with health and colors, animals appear that I have never seen before, and I am in wonder; safe and healthy at my house with fresh fruit and veggies galore. Coco is a little bored because her favorite place, the beach, continues to be closed; coming up to two months now. Most of my time is spent alone, I stay at home, and rarely go out. Since March 16. I miss my family who live in Denmark and my old friends; many of them are in Germany. Because of the Covid-19 restrictions I cannot travel there, who knows for how long. And nobody can come to Costa Rica as a tourist, who knows for how long. I guess we all know about that feeling!

Some wise people tell me that, how great! Now I can do the things that I have always been wanting to do! Considering the miracle that I am still alive after the horrible cancer and Steve’s murder, for some years I have already been doing all of what I love – delivering Tantra coaching to retreat guests at my place, taking care of my vacation rental, writing my blog, working in the garden, knitting, socializing with my friends here, walking with Coco on the beach. That slow, stable life has been healing, relaxing and good.

Especially good also because various friends would visit me here in Costa Rica for several weeks, and I was able to travel to see my family and friends for a couple of months every year, usually when it was raining cats and dogs here. Those times have been my relational renewal periods. So, now with the Coronavirus, everything has shifted, for all of us. For me this new lack of freedom to travel has left me feeling totally stuck here in my gilded cage; stuck and frustrated. Living in a tropical paradise is lovely, but not quite as glamorous and romantic as it might sound!

Back when I was a kid, our family would go camping every year for the entire summer vacation, six weeks, to an island in the North Sea in Northern Germany. A few months before our departure, our mother would make a collage with photos of the island and hang it on the wall, together with a 100cm measuring tape, the kind one uses for sewing. The 100 centimeters signified the 100 days before we could finally go back to the island. Day after day the tape would get shorter as my sister and I were allowed to cut off one centimeter each day. Our anticipation and excitement grew with every centimeter that we cut off.

At the time of the Great Dissolution I did the same when I knew which day I could finally leave California — May 11, 2016 was the day. Chemo done, breast gone, more chemo done, radiation done, preliminary hearing in murder case attended. Every day I cut off one centimeter. It felt so good; I had a goal; something to look forward to — going to “my” island was what I was looking forward to back then, too. I have history with that island!

And now, what is there to look forward to – endless tropical summer, endless tropical rainy season, endless isolation, endless not-knowing when I can go see my family and friends. Endlessly not knowing when they can come visit me. Endless construction noise from right next door. Endlessly wondering what to do with my time.

Perhaps I could try looking forward to a future on the island? Perhaps make a notch somewhere for every day of this strange time, knowing that the longer the line of notches, the closer I am to getting back there?

I am giving the best I can to stay stable and clear. Waves of grief and loss of how things were and maybe never will be again are ebbing and flowing. The strange thing is that when I open the floodgates, this particular grieving swells into huge waves of grief about everything.

And being isolated is hard. It feels like the end of the world. Sometimes I talk with others about my feelings. What really bugs me then is when people comment that, ‘Oh Lokita, please, it’s not that bad, is it? Look at what you’ve been through already’. Or, ‘What’s your problem, you have everything you need. Just think of all the other people in the world who have it so much worse than you!”. Yes, yes. I get it.

Honestly, the comparison with others or previous situations does nothing to soothe my nerves, nor my anguished heart. It might momentarily lighten my mood, but it does not dissolve my grief, sadness and yes, even anger, that all this effing s&#% is going on just when my life had risen into a new balance that was so perfect for me, and healed the wounds from my Great Dissolution. Grrrrr.

When people make such comments, I have to reach deep to muster clarity and tell them that their comments are not helpful in this moment; standing up for my feelings and my reality. Frankly, I find it so exhausting. Is it not ok to cry, complain, lament, moan and whine? To express what is going on for me? After all acceptance is the first step towards transformation, and that includes all our feelings, everything, in totality.

In fact one of the greatest tools available to me to get over the pain that came with the cancer and Steve’s murder was my ability to express myself fully. Not to hold anything back or stuff it down. Shortly after I was told about Steve’s murder I remember shutting myself into the laundry room of my friends’ house where we stayed; screaming, hitting and kicking the poor white goods, freaking out completely until I was spent, literally lying on the floor, done, and wet from tears and exhaustion. My beloved friends were so worried; they stood outside the door, helpless, but kudos to them, they did not try to change my process or to stop me. For that I will be forever grateful to them. And I did not harm anyone or myself with this expression of intense emotion.

This Coronavirus episode reminds me more and more of the Great Dissolution. Back then I was called upon by life to deal with uncertainty, loss of control and death; and again now.

Why, why, why? We will never know. Trying to give it all some meaning, seeing the gifts of the situation, speculating like world champions — and no answers. It is what it is, the feelings are what they are; they are real, just like the virus. They have their place and importance. This is the life we have now. Let’s be gentle and patient with ourselves and those around us. Let’s do what we can to be peaceful and equanimous. Most of us are in a heightened state of extreme emotion and distress. Respecting ourselves and others for what we are going through and maintaining trust and lovingkindness by relating consciously and lovingly with other human beings — that is what is called for now. This is a difficult time for everyone.

“Live each emotion that you feel. It is you. Hateful, ugly, unworthy – whatever it is, actually be in it. First give the emotions a chance to come totally up into the conscious. […] Let them come out; live them, suffer them. It will be difficult and tedious but immensely rewarding. Once you have lived them, suffered them and accepted them – that this is you, that you have not made yourself in this way, so you need not condemn yourself, that this is the way you have found yourself….

Once they are lived consciously, without any repression, you will be surprised that they are disappearing on their own. Their force on you is becoming less; their grip on your neck is no longer that tight. […] Once everything comes into the conscious mind it disperses, and when only the shadow is there, that is the time to become aware. Right now it will create schizophrenia; then it will create enlightenment.” ~ © Osho, gratefully excerpted from The Transmission of the Lamp, Talk #6