My friend Sharon Pavelda is a muse and mystic, a deeply inspired player. Check out her Facebook Page! Today, celebrating Guadalupe she wrote me this,
I smiled, knowing that as I was eating my oatmeal this morning, many were eating tamales and sweet breads in the gymnasium at Mission Dolores, some
Image via Wikipedia
with rose petals still in their hair.
And I remember that on the night before he died, my father asked me, “When are the rose petals coming?” “Tomorrow, Dad,” I said, remembering that I had promised to bring some to his room in the nursing home and would have to buy them at Safeway on the way home. I had a large cellophane cone of them in my hands early the next morning as we came into the room. The dawn was spilling pink and gold light over the slope of Camelback Mountain through the windows onto the bed where the body he had quietly left behind, lay waiting for the roses.
“..releasing into the divine.” Led by the roses. By our mothers and fathers. And by our friends of the heart.
