Friday at sunset we spread Corey's ashes atop the hill in Glendale, where we lived for so many years as a blessed family. The silent walk up the grassy hill, bursting with late summer life, was tragic and beautiful. It took me by surprise that simply arriving at the hilltop together released another tide of grief.

Saturday we made art at the first annual Corey Anne Celebration of Women in the Arts.

I found myself painting her- how she looks to me now-- because she is here and not here, she is of flesh no more but is dissolving into bursts of light and starry energy, she is impossible to see with old eyes but easy to see with our new eyes.

Because Corey connected with people at the soul level, those who felt a soul connection with her then can still feel the soul connection now. I thank God for the soul presence of beautiful Corey.

I want Corey's friends to know that you are right in taking extra time to connect with her now, and you are not alone. My Corey altar changes from time to time as I add a new photo or rearrange or find something special to place there, and the altar is an outward symbol of my inward devotion to her, especially now.

I believe -- and what Corey's friends are sharing with me backs this up -- that we have a rare opportunity now to be close to her in her new form, in her spiritual incarnation. When my mother died in 2003, for the following year and the first six months especially, I had dreams of her and what I call "dream visits" where when I awoke, I had the satisfied feeling of having had a good visit with her.

Also, during the first year, many unusual things happened involving the participation of the sky, the crawly creatures, winged creatures, plants, rocks and minerals. And so it is with Corey now. I will begin describing these as the months go on--right now my life is full of family members who insist on staying by my side like loyal Golden Retrievers, and that continues through August. In September I will have more alone time and I look forward to sharing with you some of the wonderful and rare and angelic activities that are going on right now. 

Hold on to your hats and keep connecting with our beloved Corey. You are not alone; what you are doing is of the light. 

We worked yesterday--Corey's birthday--to turn our pain into love, to turn our excruciating sense of loss into a deep appreciation of Corey and the gifts she brings. All of us who love her are in the throes of a type of crucifixion: how do we stop wishing she were here with us and instead give thanks for who she is: How do we enter into this place of great vulnerability she brought to us?

Corey would start talking about the Perseid meteor shower weeks before her birthday, calling friends and arranging the party where they could celebrate the light that streams from so far away.
Lying in the yard this morning before dawn watching them with my cousin, the light streams seemed so close, "so personal," Candace said. And the light is unbelievably brilliant. Most of the blazing particles we see in this meteor shower are as small as a grain of sand, but their light is of a quality that is unlike anything I have ever seen. 

Today, when Corey would have turned the big Three-0, I think of those streams of light as Corey's birthday candles. and like the blazes we see in the Perseid meteor shower, Corey's light shines on, so brilliantly, not to be forgotten.

After Corey "passed on" to the other side, I began noticing wingbeats for the first time. The wingbeats are impossibly subtle: I feel them when my eyes are closed and I am in a dream-like state, not sleeping and not fully awake.

In the dark of night before the sun rose today, I lit incense in the kitchen. As I selected a second match to light a white candle in the living room, I felt the intensity of my determination to connect with Corey. But as I struck the match, the match head split in two and half of it went flying off. It was the perfect image of a flaming, out-of-control head. 

I took it as a sign that I might want to set my intentions more gently, and as I struck the next match, I simply said, "The angels go before me."

In the meditation, after my busy-mind thoughts floated off, I felt wingbeats. I turned my attention to the place where I felt the wingbeats, and realized the wingbeats were behind me. It was as if I was feeling the presence of someone who stands nearby but behind a door. Then it came to me that what I call wingbeats is just a name for the heartbeat of a person who is no longer in the flesh. What I call wingbeats is really the vibrational presence of Corey. She is here.

Kate sent me this image of a note Corey sent her on June 5 this year, the day before Corey took flight into unknown dimensions. (If you have been reading this blog then you know I don't say "died" because while I acknowledge that Corey isn't walking around in the flesh, my soul is set upon being able to connect with her through the angels in spiritual realms.)

This is Corey's birthday week, since Monday, August 12 she would have turned 30. Corey and Julia and I always joked about feeling like, "It's my birthday week!" and "It's my birthday month!" which was our way of continuing the celebration of being born. It is a great gift to be born!

Corey did not want anything to eclipse this birthday. She and her fiance' would have gone to a friend's wedding this weekend, but we were starting to talk about how to celebrate her 30th birthday and my 60th birthday, all happening within a couple weeks of each other.

Today and every day, when we think of Corey and when we think of what it means to be alive, let us do what Corey advised Kate: no matter how busy it feels on the outside of your life, set your sights on having a wonderful, relaxing day on the inside. Let that intention of being filled with wonder allow you to find inner relaxation. Being in the world while feeling wonderment and calm is a great gift to ourselves and to others. Thanks Corey for reminding us.