Dwain Hensley - 1937-2014

Dear Dwain, 

I didn't know you very well. Not the you that could sit at an opposite chair at the dinner table eating something I prepared. Not the you I could call up and chat with about various rainclouds and sound waves. Not the you that would ask me to help you replace the engine in your car or build a new mast for your boat. Not that you.

I know the you that seeped into a man I love - Michael T. Hensley. I know you through him. And through him I witness lush gardens, brimming with food that we eat and eat and eat all year round. I continue to learn about salt vs. vinegar pickles, the potent smell the salty kind make when festering in the kitchen, and the sound of their crunch when being chewed on by a toddler. I ogle painting after painting with pieces of you tucked inside them. A bottle. A sad face. A house. A happy face. Dates. Times. All of these images and words are there in part because of you. Because of your influence and determination and encouragement. The kind Howdy Michael voices to every neighbor and stranger he encounters. That is you too. His tenderness for cats and birds. You. 

So thank you Dwain. Thank you for raising a brilliant human. A curious adventurer, sparkly visionary, trusty daddio, husband, amigo and a truly gentle being. 

We are going to miss you.

Love,

FF

Sit

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According to the the handy dandy meditation timer app on my phone, I've approached almost 100 hours of seated meditation over the last year. This is no small feat for an American 36 year-old lady who is also a mother, a working artist, a working worker (for the man), a wife, a fart, a lunatic, and also a parrot named Alphonso. But I still have a lot of work to do. 

Up until a year ago, my meditation sittings were harried and restless. Sitting with my eyes closed for two minutes felt like waiting in line at the DMV while holding 6 bulky suitcases. With a little prompting (and loads of support) from a teacher, I started to sit with more intention for 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, then 15, then 20, and now I'm up to 25.

This practice is surreptitiously cracking me open. I'm noticing a lightness in the ghost I house inside this body. Things that once bothered me, specifically the petty things like household messes, the cat licking herself while I'm trying to write, and driving in traffic, don't disturb me as much. Little bits of insight and buried emotions are busting their way from my heart. I'm feeling more, but it's a less reactive kind of feeling. It's raw and real and much more difficult to ignore. 

A few words from Alan Watts:

The Button

In November I found a button on the ground. It was a large, black plastic button used to connect one piece of heavy fabric to another piece of heavy fabric. It was a shiny, reflective button and I could see sky in it. I could see birds in it. And I could see a strange woman lurking behind me in it. She wore a blue baseball cap with a blonde ponytail pulled through the back. She tapped me on the shoulder and squealed lets!  

I pretended not to notice and continued to watch her through the button. I whispered to the button I can't hear you, and I'm busy, and Leave me alone. But the woman remained behind me, now shuffling her feet back and forth while whistling the theme song to Dallas. 

Then I saw more people in the button. Neighbors I hadn't spoken to in months, friends from long ago and my cat's veterinarian. They all tapped me on the shoulder and squealed Lets! They shuffled their feet and whistled the theme song to Dallas. 

Through the button I saw snow falling from the sky. Snowman-sized flakes began to blanket the ground around me. I was hunched over and my back ached, but my eyes remained on the button. The shuffling and whistling around me increased. My hands became numb, then turned an eggplant shade of purple, then black. Tiny icicles formed on the edges of my eyes. The shuffling and whistling continued, but the sounds were more muffled. I watched the people through the button. They were shuffling, whistling and smiling at one another. They looked ridiculous. They looked beautiful. I suddenly loved them. 

The snow's blinding whiteness, heft, and silence engulfed me. I tried to open my mouth. I tried to say Whistle louder. Shuffle more. I can't hear you. I tried to squeal Let's! But my lips were frozen shut.