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| One of Barb's best portraits ever -- herself! |
March 1 marks the one-year anniversary of the death of my friend Barbara Stephens, great artist: photographer extraordinaire. And why was she such a great artist? Because, I think, she was a great lover. To love was her joy, and joy was the signature note of the tune of her existence. A love object didn't have to be overtly joyous -- smiley-faced -- to give her joy. It was beauty that did it, not air-brushed beauty but slight signs of love alive in hearts, moments of love flashing heart to heart, glance to glance, fingertip to fingertip. Or the simple Creator-love miracle of a wolf spider. (Not that I personally saw much to be happy about in the wolf spider.)
She caught those moments and miracles, exalted in them and exulted them. She was a fabulous portrait photographer, not just of people, but of everything that rang that note of joy within her. No matter how grim her prospect -- dreary housing, cancer, empty bank account, ailing offspring – she always came across something that rang the joy bell. If her photography mojo, as she called it, wasn't up to snuff, she'd simply find a subject, any subject. She'd see a fly, even a mosquito, magnetize it with her lens, study it, look it up, learn its name and habits.
I was a bit spoiled by frequently opening emails from her to find gorgeous or at least intriguing images, but now and then I'd find myself face to face with a housefly (multiple eyes), or a deceased field mouse (lovingly bestowed upon her by her cat, who was her familiar). I couldn't grant bugs and dead mice the Jainite respect that Barb gave them, so I think part of her joy in emailing them to me was that they annoyed me.
She was deeply mischievous and humorous, loved to tease. Also loved to kvetch and worry. Nothing of the saint about Barbara Dee Halpern (her given name). And if her mojo failed and there were no fascinating hair balls (or something) around -- look out. She could drive you crazy. Now and then I got mad at her.
And so we come to the nub of this little remembrance. During the year when Barb was dying I got mad at her for a few weeks because I thought she was being "unspiritual" about her upcoming death. Such a material girl. She was enjoying to the hilt each moment of life that she could, and that included a lot of what-the-hell type shopping online. With time I saw that she was savoring every chance she got to shower her love on the loves of her life, especially her son and daughter, her grand-daughter, her brothers, and others of her family, and those chances grew as they spent more and more time visiting and nursing her. I also eventually understood that she was quietly dealing with her own inner torment at having to say good-bye to them and to life on earth, which she adored in all its materiality, its rawness and its exquisiteness.
Some years before, she'd written me an email that I'd printed out and put in one of my prayer books. It was about love. While I was mad at her for dying -- because that's what I was really angry about -- I ripped up that email. And I had no copy of it on my computer, or anywhere else. So, later, when I wanted it on around March 3 or 4, 2011, shortly after she died --
What's an idiot to do? Gone is gone. Then, one day I was meditating, doing that mindfulness thing where you sit and get with your breathing in its regular rhythm, and I felt illumination from within: love light. I thought, "This is what Barb was talking about in that email." But what did she say? I couldn't remember. When I read it, I didn't really understand it. I just wanted to understand it.
For a few days I wondered how to verbalize the love-light. I realized I'd perceived it while thinking about Joshua. I was feeling a bit unsure of how to be his mother since he'd married and had a child. While meditating you're stilling and quieting the mind, so you look at thoughts and let them go, no matter if they're highly charged or neutral. But you acknowledge them. So I had said to myself, "Here's Josh. I just love him." That's when the light shone.
Love. My love for my son. My love for whatever and whomever I love. It's not their love for me that gives me strength -- although, that too, and thank God for it. But it's not their bad moods or bad feelings on some occasions that weaken me. It's my love for them that is my power for good, salvation, refuge.
After thinking this over for some days, I wrote something I could equate with Barb's lost email: Love what you love with your whole heart – a sky, a leaf, a child, a cat, a friend, a lover. Have favorites. Dote on them. Don't be afraid to admit how much you love, to feel how much you love. If you're afraid to admit and feel how much you love, that's because you're afraid your beloveds won't love you back. But they don't have to love you back. The love in you and emanating from you is enough. Let your love widen and deepen and brighten; it's whole and nothing can fragment it, complete and nothing can diminish it. It can only augment, it can't decrease. When you grieve it teaches you wisdom, when you're afraid it gives you courage. Simply love. Trust your love, be your love, love your love. Such love is intrinsic in life. It's the love of life. It's life itself.
However, that isn't what Barb wrote. That, I can never get back. Like her, it was irreplaceable. I can only thank her for writing it, but, more, for living it. Thank you, my forever friend.
March 1, 2012
