It has only been since Friday and I still can’t get used to it. In fact, I’ve avoided my meditation room for days, knowing a small vial of Steven Robert Greb’s ashes are there. I put them there, on my puja (altar), because I don’t know yet where to scatter them. They serve as a stark reminder of how precious life is.
Richard and I went as ‘ambassadors’ of Siddha Yoga, specifically the Siddha Yoga Meditation Center in Cincinnati. The funeral home called the Center’s phone line on Labor Day and requested that someone come to the memorial in Miamisburg, Ohio and represent Steve’s spiritual practice. I read from Baba Muktananda about not fearing death, and Richard played ten minutes of the mantra. Afterwards, we discovered that several close family members had been to the ashram and met Gurumayi. Life is full of surprises!
Meanwhile, death. I face it daily in the form of Steve’s remains. I already had a fierce relationship with time. Ever since I’ve been an adult, I have had a certain free floating anxiety about having enough time, getting everything done before . . . . . you know. Seeing that phrase “having enough time” slams it in my face. First, I can’t possess time and what is “enough,” who decides? It’s a crazy race I’ve been running and I’m tired of it.
I, Phebeananda, do hereby declare that I am in charge of my own schedule. I decide my priorities (except when death and life circumstances intervene, ha!). There’s no time to waste yet I can rest and relax as I may. And if I forget the urgency of doing what’s important to me, I can sit in front of my puja and talk to Steve.