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 is leading us into our own unique spiritual evolutions. I believe she is calling us to stay in a place of love, and in the deepest place of love there is no separation. In the deepest place of love there is no separation.
My greatest comfort yesterday was in singing this song with my awesome cousin Candace. I turned on my iPhone to record it so I could share it with everyone who is struggling to find beauty and love amidst pain and loss. Then, since I couldn't get the mp4 audio file to upload, I dragged it into iMovie and made a little slideshow. Hope you learn the song and sing it to yourself and sing it to Corey. I wept when I sang it because all of a sudden I realized that I had opened to a deep place of love--and found Corey right there, all around me and extremely attentive.
I open to the love
that surrounds me (2)
let it flow, let it flow
let it begin with me (2
Love Is Stronger Than Death
These entries are part of an upcoming book about love and grief, in honor of Corey Considine, my beautiful younger daughter. She was with us in physical form from August 12,1983 to June 6, 2013. It was a vehicle accident, at the end of a beautiful sunset she had just watched from her favorite hill. She was engaged to a wonderful young man, dabbling in art, planting gardens, planning her wedding, offering love, care, and healing to everyone she knew.