Thursday, December 20, 2012

the end of the world

Tomorrow is the end of the world.

The calendar ends. Well, the Mayan one, and the dawn of a new era. It is the same day that my daughter died. She would be four on the day after the end of the world, if her world didn't end.

I remember what that feels like. The end of the world. The rug is pulled out from under you. Tumbling, nauseated, insomniatic, fearful, like you can suddenly see all the poison, juts, knives, umbilical cord accidents, guns, cars as weapons of mass destruction, televisions untethered to walls. You don't know you are dead. You are the hungry ghost, walking the circumference of the earth, looking to eat something that makes sense. It drops out the bottomlessness of you. Nothing nourishes. Nothing stops the pain of change. You float along and bark at people in your chair (they don't hear you, so you slam a door) and yell at people who bring in white flowers and mourn with you. In the blackness, you wait for instructions or an answer, or a white light, but mostly you wait for the end, but there is no end, no beginning, just a suffering of your own design.

The Izmana, the invisible sky god, swallows the earth. He creates it, he destroys it. The light points shoot out his hair follicles and his eyes, but you are stuck somewhere behind a sinus cavity. It is all darkness there, and you doubt a God could even swallow the earth, even though you saw it happening. I bought some extra cans of beans this week, and an extra loaf of bread. Maybe we can outlive the end.

They say we are on a path of ascension. I sat in circle, meditating. The information downloaded into my subconsciousness as the channel stood over me. I sleep to access the records. I am chilled to the bone, and excited, afire and alit, grounded and flying. Suddenly, Grief clears his throat.

Remember me? 
How could I forget you?
I am part of your ascension. I am part of your growth. 
You are part of the problem.
There are no problems. Perhaps I feel part of your regression and meditation right at this moment. But time is meaningless. What was is what is and what will be is what has happened.
It's been four years, certainly this raw grief is done.
It is and isn't. I am part of your enlightenment. Feel me for all of them, for her. 

Lucia stands in a white gown, hair cascading down her shoulders, and she reminds me of a magnet I have. My guides stand around her. And angel walks with her. She is fine.

My sweet girl. My sweet girl. My sweet girl.

She is fine, and I am suffering.


I wept in a circle of women. Cried into my friend's hair, and she held me like a child. I flushed and wiped my tears.


Even if you don't understand it.
Even if you can't figure out how four years later it can rising again, like the oceans.
Even if you think she was just a baby who hadn't breathed yet and what could we miss.
Even if you think other people have stronger, more justifiable grief.
Even if.

Honor the sacred grief. Bow to it. Sit with it. Have tea with it. Bring to the market. Cry on it, baptize it with those tears.

There will be a bonfire. I am wrapping a little bundle in black fabric. It will contain sage and lavender and dirt and mugwort and all those things that no longer serve me. I will pitch the earth into the fire until it becomes air later pour the water on to the coals. I will tell the story of Lucia's birth, how light was born into darkness, and the longest night served me as well as it could. We birthed her in dimmed lights, and I saw purple. I wept on her torn skin and held her close, and walked to my car five hours later. My vagina pulsing from the pain of releasing her. My womb contracting still. Leaving her in a hospital to be dissected then burned was the hardest thing I have thought I would do in my life. I thought they may have made a mistake, even as I held her lifeless body and pushed her tongue into her mouth so she didn't look so dead. But every minute without her has been just as hard as that way. In the earlier days, it was harder even.

I belong to a circle of women in my everyday life and another one in my on-line life where we talk about the sacred, magic, other dimensions, meditation, the divine, ascension, the hard spiritual work and the easy. We create divine crafts, and offer our gifts to one another. But I miss grieving people. I want to create a circle of grieving women, to honor the elements, to honor the seasons, to honor our spirits bruised and battered and still walking from the sunset. If you are interested in something like that, let me know. Leave a comment, or send me an email. 


  1. I have had you and Lucia on my mind all this week. And will tomorrow.

    "She is fine, and I am suffering." This really got me. I wish I had more experience in meditation and the sacred. I'm willing to learn though...I'm interested.

    Sending love and light. ((hugs))

  2. Thinking of you and sweet Lucia. I know you're right--she is fine, my boys too, but we are not. We are left, "baptizing grief with our tears." Oh how we baptize it. I am here, another grieving mother, and I'm interested in joining you in your grief. I don't know what this circle looks like exactly, but the thought of it brings some relief to my weary heart. Sending you love and light. Standing with you. xoxoxo

  3. Sweet beautiful Lucia, so much love to you as the solstice begins, and always.
    I would like to join your circle, I'm lost with my grief right now, and maybe need something like this, I don't know. x

  4. And here I am, adding my comment to the voices of others
    I am interested

  5. I continue to come here because of this circle you have created ~ this circle of grieving women. As wrong as our plight may seem to others, it feels right when I come here. I read this recently, "What if the worst thing that happened to you was the best thing that ever happened to you?" I have been meditating on this. As lost as I feel on this plane, I believe our angel babies have laid down a protected path for us in another realm, a realm where it is all right.

    It is my birthday tomorrow, the end of the world. I had the thought this morning as I lit Guadalupe prayer candles and set them all round the house ~ that our end of the world already happened. We mamas have walked through what others can only speak about as if it is some kind of urban legend.

    I will continue to come to this circle of women, of grief, of magic.

    Bless you Angie, Lucia & all of us ~

  6. Holding you close in my heart today and every day. Beautifully written.

  7. Thinking of you and lighting a candle for sweet Lucia on her birthday. ((hugs))

  8. Angie, I've been thinking of you and Lucia all week. I know these days are hard. Sending you light and love and remembering your girl.

  9. Always remembering Lucia with you. So much love, Angie. So much love...

  10. Thinking of you and of your beautiful Lucia. Surrounded by guides and walking with angels x

  11. Your words are so beautiful, harsh, honest and full of emotion. Thinking of you as tomorrow, an already emotional day for you now with added .... something ... with the end of an era and all. In my idealistic version of me I meditate but in reality I cuss and search for patience. I am interested though, in this circle of women you talk about. Thinking of you and your sweet, beautiful Lucia.

  12. Sending you my thoughts, and I'll look at the sky tomorrow, and talk a bit to Lucia, breathe her in a bit.

    What a matrix of missing and loss, it's nearly too much. Strange how, long ago, any one bit of it would have felt like too much. I am wishing you a peaceful day tomorrow, in touch with your feelings, steeping in them, and then a buoyant few, as these things often go.

    (And you know I am interested.)

  13. Thinking of you and everyone and Lucy and sending you love.

  14. Light into darkness...

    Remembering your lovely Lucia on the longest, darkest day of the year.

  15. I've been thinking of you and sweet Lucia, much love to you my dear friend. How can it be 4 years?? :( <3

  16. I'm interested. All I do is ignore my grief. Not good.

  17. What a poignant day, a beautiful post. Wishing you peace on this anniversary, and hoping your world doesn't end again. Hope you feel your girl close by xx

  18. I grieve with you. Even if my baby was nothing more than a fetus floating to the bottom of my womb on the ultrasound. Everyday I ask myself, How can the loss of something so small take up the whole world? Thank you for this gift, this permission to grieve.

  19. Thinking of you and your beautiful Lucia Paz. 4 years. How could that possibly be? Wishing you and yours peace and strength as you remember her.

  20. "My sweet girl. My sweet girl. My sweet girl.

    She is fine, and I am suffering."

    This is our truth, isn't it? Whether you believe in an afterlife or nothing at all. They are fine and we are the ones who are suffering. I find comfort in that, actually. Still, always, forever, wishing that there was magic enough in the world to bring them all back to us.


  21. She is fine, and I am suffering.
    Ugh and it is the truth, even in the brilliant beauty of the life that we have without our daughter, we are still suffering because of their abscence.
    4 years, my dear friend, without your dear daughter.
    My sweet girl. My sweet girl. My sweet girl.
    I get so choked up, because whether we face our grief or ignore it, it refuses to go is our constant companion forever more.

    I am interested in your grief cirlce. I could use a circle.

    I am so glad you had someone to hold you as you cried...I am so glad. We certainly need more people to help hold our hearts when we the time, space and capacity to just be sad, and miss, completely.

    Sending love and light to you.

  22. I'm thinking about you, and remembering your beautiful Lucia Paz.


  23. Angie, I will hold you and Lucia close in my heart for the day to come.

    I am interested in your grief circle.


  24. Thinking of you, Angie, and of your sweet, love and light filled little lady Lucia.

  25. Love to you Angie and birthday wishes for Lucia. Thinking of you all

  26. Suffering. Yes. Oh yes.
    What if, what if, what if.
    If only, if only, if only.
    I hope he is fine.
    I would very much like to be a part of your grief circle to quiet my mind.
    Thinking of you and your darling girl xx

  27. Happy birthday, beautiful Lucia, one week late. Your fire ritual sounds so tangible, clearing, experiential. Thank you for sharing. Love to you all <3


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