Saturday, April 25, 2015

Death and Life in Nepal

Made in Nepal, this is a small brass pendant that depicts Durga, Goddess of Death and Destruction and yet at the same time, the saviour of the world.  This arrived today in the post from Nepal, about half an hour before I read about the terrible Earthquake that has devastated the land there. 

I have been thinking about my childhood in Nepal lately and I wrote about the Temple of Chandeshwari that lay less than five minutes' walk from our house there.  The Goddess Chandeshwari is the same Goddess that is named Durga or Kail.  She has a voracious appetite for blood and it was she who danced upon the corpse of her Lord, Shiva, and yet she saved both the Gods and humanity from a Demon who had conquered and laid waste to Heaven itself.  A terrifying and complex Goddess...

Looking at photographs of the earthquake and the death count as well as the destruction of beautiful temples and buildings that are as famous in Nepal as Big Ben in England or the Statue of Liberty in New York, I was struck by the power of this Goddess, who is of course, an embodiment of Nature in all of her terrible power.  We tend to become arrogant quickly in this age of technology, believing that we have harnessed and subjugated all the forces of Nature, only to discover that our edifices and works can be swept away in an instant by an Earthquake or Tsunami or even a Hurricane or Tornado.

Death was so close always in Nepal.  Even as a child of 11, I experienced it constantly.  The smell of burning bodies from the ghats below the maidan was something that never will be forgotten.  The smoke was sweet and thick and ashes would blow upwards into my face and hair.

I translated at the local clinic and one day a Buddhist Monk from Tibet, a refugee, came through.  He had leprosy and I told him that we had medication that could halt the progress of a disease that was obsolete in Europe but still very much in evidence in the Himalayas.
Much to my embarrassment, he prostrated himself fully on the ground and declared that I was a Goddess.  He offered me a bag that was filled with unset gems.  Of course I refused it and told him that he could give a small amount of money for the medication if he wished but no more than that.

He went to stay at the local Buddhist temple on the maidan.  Dilmaya, my best friend and I often went there with our lunch, to sit in the small but lovely little garden while we ate chapatis with curry.  There was a pool there and we would watch the image of the clouds and shadows of trees rippling across the water.

A few days after the refugee monk went to stay with his 'brother' priest, he died.  There were rumours in the village that he had been poisoned by the priest.  The bag of gems had vanished.

This is the stuff of novels, but it happened to me as a child and it left a terrible feeling of responsibility and impotence.  He told me I was a goddess and yet I could not save him.  Knowing damned well that I was nothing of the sort, it still haunted me and haunts me to this day.

I had many extraordinary experiences in Nepal.  We had a wooden swing in our garden.  It was the sort of swing that could serve almost as a bed, where four children could sit side by side. 

One night, I could not sleep and went out of my room to look at the moon.  Like something from a dream, I saw a small leopard laying in the swing, perfectly at ease.  Its eyes glowed in the dark.  So beautiful, so otherworldly, a little frightening.  I almost dared not breathe for fear of startling it. 

The next day, I heard a loud commotion in the village of Chandeshwari down the hill.  Cries of 'Bhag!  Bhag!'  Many men rushing about, although it was difficult to see details from the top of the maidan.

The villagers had found a leopard prowling near the village and, perceiving a threat to their livestock, they beat it to death with sticks.  I watched helplessly from a distance, not even realising completely what had happened until I was told about it later.  I was told that there was a bounty that was paid by the government on any leopard skin as well.  Yet another incentive to kill the beautiful wild creature.

Obscurely, again I felt responsible and impotent.  Why had I been privileged to catch a glimpse of this animal if it was only to be slaughtered the very next day?  It was like the darkest of fairytales to me.

From a life in the West where Death was hidden for the most part, experienced behind hospital curtains to a ilfe in a place where animal sacrifices occurred constantly.  A rooster head often had place of honour on the puja tal.  Whenever there was a festival, at least one sheep was beheaded and often it would run in circles headless, blood gushing from its neck like a fountain of Death.

Squemish to a fault before I went to Nepal, I quickly became hardened to the sight of blood.  After all, my Uncle ran a hospital.  Bodies were carried out frequently wrapped only in a simple shroud to be taken to the ghats.  I watched people die more than once, both fascinated and somewhat appalled, surrounded by the sorrow of the family.  There, family members often slept on the floor beside the hospital bed, cooking meals for the patient and tending to him or her as though they were in their own homes.  We offered treatment and medication but they were fed and bathed mainly by their own families.

I saw a man who had been mauled by a bear, half his head a bloody mass of gore.   Saw many lepers in advanced stages of the disease, nose and fingers eaten away, and many people with goitres and a condition called elephantitis, huge growths on their necks or swollen misshapen legs.  Small boys from the village would have nosebleeds caused by the lodging of a leech inside their nostrils.  Almost every one had lice in their hair.  The women would ist on the maidan grooming one another and their children, cracking the lice between their fingernails.

And yet, for all that, it was a beautiful, beautiful country and the life there was exciting and vivid.  I had my heart broken in Nepal and that was why I left, not because of the primitive nature of it, which I rather loved.  I embraced that wholeheartedly, feeling that I had stepped back in time perhaps to medieval Europe.  No indoor plumbing and many villages even without electricity, footpaths slippery with feces and hookworm prevalent in that.  One could not walk barefoot in Nepal, but in the hot season, one did wear sandals and the less glamourous aspects of humanity always were close at hand.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Thoughts about Death

To find Mark on Facebook only AFTER he died makes me feel as though he had moved next door to me but I had never known.  How easy would it have been to find him!  For some reason, all his posts were public.  He certainly was savvy enough to limit views if he had so desired.  After all, he lived and breathed technology in a sense.  It makes me very sad to discover how much he suffered and how I did not know anything about that.  I always felt he would grow weary of being cross with me for a stupid political disagreement and then would make contact again... never would I have thought he would die at his age.  Why not though?  I had friends who died before they reached 30 and more than one...

Today in the bath, I had a very vivid vision of the act of dying.  Of what it is like to be at the threshold as it were.  I saw a deep gorge before me and I heard a voice telling me that I had to leap over it instantly or I would die... in other words, if you do not find the desire or courage to leap over it fast enough, you have no hope of returning to the living world.  I never conceived of anything like this.  It was a purely spontaneous vision, whatever its merits.

It kind of makes sense though.  I think many people die because they cannot summon enough energy to continue to struggle.  It happens particularly with those who have lost a loved one or live in severe pain.  I know that, were it not for some very compelling responsibilities in the form of my daughter and my cats, I would been hard-pressed to keep up the struggle now.  The pain gets worse and worse and mobility continues to diminish.  Furthermore, I keep losing friends and loved ones to Death.  I suppose there is some point when you see that more of the people for whom you care are on the other side of the veil and then, what keeps yiou here???
 
Still, I do want to hang onto life until I feel I have accomplished something of true value and I don't see any hope for my Cats should I throw in the towel.  Although my daughter does not really NEED me any longer, I would spare her that pain of loss and moreover, I am very interested to see what she accomplishes in her life.

Thus, one has reasons to go on, even if the way is dim sometimes.

Thinking again about Mark, I realise that if ANY ONE could make contact with the living to prove life after death, it would be he.  He was fascinated with magic and mathematics.  I think the trick of it would be rooted in Maths somehow, rather like Einstein's Theory of Relativity.  Whether or not he would bother to contact me after shutting down communication a few years ago, I do not know.  Somehow, though, I feel he wished I would have contacted him again.  As I grow older, my stubborn ability to insist upon keeping flames of old friendships alive diminishes... but I do feel I was right always to make those attempts.  It is not a case of living in the past but simply of continuing to value everything that MATTERED at any point in time during ones life.

I think that is what some people do not understand.  It is not that I am trying to drag them away from the present and to enforce some sort of past relationship.  It is rather that these are the people who were important to me.  It was they whom I loved and therefore always will love, although that love need not impinge upon any current relationship or life.  I never comprehended how people can slam the door on their own past lives and loves.  It does not make any sense to me.

So Mark, I'll be open on the astral plane.  I used to spend a fair amount of time there or at least I tried to discipline my spirit to be able to travel outside this narrow sphere.  It would be a great trick to have up my sleeve now when my body has been such a betrayer and has placed me in a prison of damaged flesh.  Worth trying simply for that, I expect!

My daughter used to have great power to travel the astral plane.  She told me how, when she was a child, she was able to visit her uncle's house.  I too recall similar experiences during my childhood and even during adulthood but not for a very long time.  I suppose I lost the discipline of it.  Time to renew it.

I would be very interested to know if Mark finally has been forced to concede the existence of God as well.  Such a literal mind but now all those limitations must have dissolved in death.  He has to perceive whatever is universal and beyond human measurements.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Our Local Temple at Chandeshwari, from 'Nepal Back in Time'

Personal Note:  For a long time, I could not bear to write about my experiences as a child in Nepal.  The emotional and spiritual wounds remained raw and deep.  Now, however, I feel it is time to revisit that very significant period of my life and glean all that was good from it before it is too late.

Dedicated to Kaji Lal Shrestha and his family in Chandeshwari

As a child, I lived in a compound on a maidan (artificial mound) that had been constructed almost at the halfway point between the village of Banepa and the village of Chandeswari.  Banepa lay on the paved road that went from Kathmandu all the way to the Tibetan border and had been built by the Chinese.  Chandeswari, on the other hand, was a little less accessible, as the road was nothing more than a path.

My aunt and uncle had little interest in the native religions or legends but I made friends quickly with the village girls and participated in their puja rituals as often as possible.  Puja consisted of taking a platter filled with different rraditional offerings to the local temple in the morning, being blessed with sacred red paste or powder (tika) and then returning home.  All the young girls I knew performed puja.  I daresay my aunt and uncle would have been horrified had they known that I worshipped at the temple of Chandeswari with my friends.

I remember some of the offerings that were placed on the large round tal that was taken to the temple in the morning.  String incense was one of the items and it was placed in a small brass cup with a stand.  Another offering might be the head of a rooster.  Fresh flowers as well as the crushed rice known as chura in our village might be included as well.  The tika was the red paste that would be placed on the forehead of the person who brought the offering to the temple.

I hate to admit it but in my day, the temple was very dirty and very dark always.  We often did not wear shoes and I can remember quite vividly the feeling of flies, sticky old blood and bones from old sacrifices beneath my bare feet.  The inside of the temple hummed with feeding flies.  During the sacrifices, goat heads were piled high about the temple precinct.

The atmosphere was charged with power and magic.  Whenever I entered that dim, cool building, I shivered slightly and experienced a frisson of fear.   When I look at newer photographs of the temple, there is less power although I still see old bones from sacrifices scattered on the ground.

When I first went to Nepal, the smells and sights were overwhelming, but one soon became accustomed to it and indeed, I felt that the more I lived like one of the Nepalese, the better I would feel about life there.

I realise as well that in the West, our culture is extremely antiseptic and that destroys the fabric of reality upon which spiritual power traditionally was and is built.  Life and Death are very real and the flies that feast upon the blood as well as the maggots that eat the rotting flesh are part of the Great Goddess who oversees Death and Rebirth.  Kali or Durga or Chandeshwori as she is named in Napal is a terrifying Goddess in some of her aspects, with tongue extended to lap up fresh blood with an insatiable thirst.  At the same time, as any one who has studied any sort of mythology knows, there can be no Rebirth without Death.  Death is the Mother of Rebirth and the old and exhausted must be swept away in order to provide room for new life.

As an adult, I know far more about the Goddess Chandeswari than I did as a child.  She was a terrifying figure with eight arms, all brandishing weapons and other items of power.  It was she who, in the form of Durga (Chandeswari in Nepal) slew one of the most powerful of demons.  The tale varies from place to place.  I will recount the classical version of the tale after giving the local Nepalese version:

Now to recount the local legend of Chandeshwari in Nepal.

You may not realise how important the village of Chandeshwari is if you visit it without knowing of its history but it was here that the powers of Light defeated the evil Demon Chand.

Long, long ago, almost within reach of the dawn of Time, a great and powerful demon named Chanda set his will against the Gods and laid waste to the earth.  The gods engaged in battle against him and were defeated.  Indeed, they were cast out of Heaven itself in defeat and were forced to live in the forests near Banepa in a valley near a river with a trail that lead to the very heart of the Himals and to the greatest mountain of all, later to be known as Everest.  The river was the Punya Mata River and even in those days, there were a few houses near the river where people were born, lived and died to be burned on the ghats by the waters.

It was due to the fact that the God Shiva had granted a boon to the demon that their defeat had been certain for the demon could not be defeated either by any God or any man.

The Demon, in the way of most demons, delighted in mischief and destruction.  He laid waste to the land on the shores of the Punya Mata, even fouling the pure waters of the River.  The poor people who lived there became desperate as their goats, buffalo and chickens were slaughtered, disappearing into the maw of the Demon, whose appetite was unsatiable.  He roared with laughter to see their anguish  and the awful sound kept the people awake at night, while their bellies rumbled and they grew weaker and weaker.

There always have been brave warriors in Nepal and the young men of the warrior caste armed themselves and sallied forth to fight against Chandra.  Like chaff from beaten rice, after tearing them to pieces, he scattered their bodies to the four winds and the women wailed and mourned.

Both the people and the gods living in the forest despaired of their power to save their land.  Only the greatest of the Gods could hope to solve the terrible problem that faced the world.

The gods living in the forests sent the Garuda as their messenger to Vishnu and Shiva and narrated their tale of woe.  As they did so, an immense mass of light emanated from the mouth of Vishnu, joined by similar outpourings of light from the enraged faces of the other gods.  This transformed into a woman, to whom all the gods transferred their own power.  Adishakti re-manifested as Durga in order to be able to slay Mahishasura, known as the demon Chand.

The Goddess both beautiful and terrible in her power was given a Lion to ride by Lord Himalaya, the God of the Great Mountains at the very top of the world above the valley where Banepa lay.  She returned with the gods to the forest of Banepa and rode out to the field of battle to face the Demon.

All the gods bestowed their gifts upon Durga and she rode the Lion armed with celestial weapons, bedecked with divine ornaments.

The entire army of Mahishasura attacked her together but she slew them all easily.  Their enraged leader, Chand himself then attacked her in the guise of a buffalo but she bound the beast with ropes.  The buffalo then transformed itself into a Lion and leapt upon the goddess, but Durga beheaded it with her sword. At this point, Mahishasura became a swordsman but Durga pinned him down with a torrent of arrows. The demon next assumed the form of an Elephant and restrained Durga's Lion, rendering it helpless. Durga cut off the trunk of the Elephant, thus freeing her Lion.  The demon transformed himself again into a Buffalo to charge at the Goddess.

Infuriated by his slippery nature and by his ability to transform again and again, Durga began to drink the potent rakshi made from rice, becoming wholly intoxicated.   In another version of the tale, it was the sacred Soma, the drink of the gods, for which she possesses an insatiable thirst, that she imbibed.   Filled with the glory of her own power and beauty, she began to laugh at him, hurling mountains at the demon and promising him that she would emerge from the battle victorious to bear his head to the gods in victory.  She then leapt across the battlefield and placed her foot upon the neck of the demon to prevent him from changing form again.  She then pierced him with her holy trident, beheading him at last and thus killing him.

At the site of the fierce battle on the big rocks along the river, visitors still can behold some of the marks of the conflict.  When he was killed, a lingam emerged from his belly and this has been worshipped ever since at the site.  The temple that stands at Chandeshwari today may have been built in the 17th century, but the sacred lingam and worship of the Great Goddess has been there since the dawn of time when the people of Nepal and the Gods were liberated from the awful might of the Demon.

'Devi Durga' is known as the Goddess of eternal power. Durga puja is an age-old festival and is celebrated with great fanfare all over the country. Goddess Durga is the vanquisher of all evil. Every year, Durga Puja is celebrated throughout the country and devotees pray to the Goddess and seek her blessings and protection.


The origins of Durga is told in different ways.  According to the Shiva Purana, Lord Shiva invoked the primordial energy from his left side to create Durga.  Together, they made an eternal home, Shivaloka or Kashi.  After that, they created Vishnu and Brahma.

The tale really begins with the asura named Rambha, father of Mahishasura.  Rambha evidently had offended the gods but performed his penance to Lord Agni.  Agni, who is the personification of one of the most primal powers, Fire itself, was pleased with the penance and granted the asura a boon to the effect that he would have a son who could not be killed by any god, man or animal.  Agni granted him the boon.

Rambha fell in love with a water buffalo named Mahishi who actually was a princess named Shyamala who had been transformed into an animal as a result of a curse.  The water buffalo evidently was pleased with his advances and together, they had a son named Mahishasura.   As the mother was a shapeshifter in a sense, Mahishasura was born with the power to transform himself into an animal, a very useful weapon as it proved.

His father told him of the boon granted by Agni but advised his son to visit Lord Brahma to have the powers ratified as it were.  Mashishasura dutifully followed his father's advice.  Lord Brahma, with some misgivings was forced to honour the provisions of the promise made by Agni and Mahishasura grew into adulthood knowing he never could be killed by a god, a man or any beast.

Mahishasura, as is often the case with demons, had little sense of responsibility towards others and unleashed a reign of terror upon the earth.  When the gods attempted to intervene, Mahishasura defeated them and succeeded in banishing them from heaven itself.  The vanquished gods went to Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva and narrated their tale of woe.  As they did so, an immense mass of light emanated from the mouth of Vishnu, joined by similar outpourings of light from the enraged faces of the other gods.  This transformed into a woman, to whom all the gods transferred their own power.  Adishakti re-manifested as Durga in order to be able to slay Mahishasure.  Armed with the celestial weapons of the gods and bedecked with divine ornaments, Durga rode onto the field of battle and challenged the demons.  The entire army of Mahishasura attacked her together but she slew them all easily.  Their enraged leader, Mashishasura himself, then attacked her in the guise of a buffalo but she bound the beast with ropes.  The buffalo then transformed itself into a Lion and leapt upon the goddess, but Durga beheaded it with her sword. At this point, Mahishasura became a swordsman but Durga pinned him down with a torrent of arrows. The demon next assumed the form of an Elephant and restrained Durga's Lion, rendering it helpless. Durga cut off the trunk of the Elephant, thus freeing her Lion.  The demon transformed himself again into a Buffalo to charge at the Goddess.  Sipping from a cup of wine to fortify herself, Durga flung her trident at the beast, beheading the demon and thus killing him.

Durga Puja is one of the most important Hindu festivals.  It honours the supreme Goddess Durga and is celebrated throughout India and Nepal.  It  is celebrated in different ways according to local customs and cultures, however.  Even the rituals performed during the Puja vary enormously.

The Puja commences on the day of the new moon during Navaratri.  The idols of Durga Maa are adorned with jewels and silk saris.  In some cultures, idols of Ganesha, Karthikeva and Shiva are decorated and consecrated beside the Goddess.

In another legend, Durga was created in order to destroy the invincible demon Mahishasura.  The unified powers of all the gods created a mass of fire and light from which a magnificent Goddess emerged.  By the light of Lord Shive, her face was created.  Lord Vishnu bestowed upon her his arms and Lord Brahma provided her legs.  She was blessed with all the powers of the gods and the Devi bestowed her powerful weapons upon her.  She was bedecked with priceless jewels, a silk sari and many garlands.  Maa Durga was given a Lion as her form of transport by Lord Himalaya, the God of the Mountains.  She then came to be known as Mahadevi, the Goddess Durga.

It was necessary to create a Goddess in order to slay the demon Mahishasura because of a boon granted by Brahma to the effect that the demon never could be destroyed either by a god or by a man. By creating the Mahadevi, neither god nor human, the gods made a saviour for the whole world.  On her fierce Lion, Goddess Durga rode towards the lair of Mahishasura.  After a fierce battle in the course of which the demon transformed himself again and again from Buffalo to Lion to Elephant and the form of a warrior, the Goddess managed to slay him.  Mahadevi thus became known as Mahishasura Mardhini, the slayer of Mahisshasura.


A Tourist's Photographs of the Temple and Villages

A rather fine and detailed description of the temple at Chandeshwari follows:

Originally Chandhonubik Bhagvati.  Balsakh-Purnima.  After this, the location became known as Chandeshwari, the site where the demon Chand was slain.  As an offering of thanks, the temple was dedicated to her and every year a festival is held on Baisakh-Purnima in memory of this event.  On that day,  a chariot procession with the implements from the Chandeshwari sanctum proceeds along the pathway between Banepa and Chandeshwari.    Chandeshwari is approached from Banepa along a stone paved pathway that runs roughly North-East through farmland and rice fields.  There is a fine view of the whole monument zone from a considerable distance.  The site is located on the right bank of a steeply sloping gorge and the opposite bank is well wooded.  A stream, cascading down the gorge forms small pools between the rocks at the foot of the temple precinct.

Below the temple are three ghats, a spring and various small sanctuaries including one dedicated to Hanuman.  From these loosely connected but sensitively placed buildings and sculptures there are fine views upwards towards the temple area which is accessible through a small gate at the top of a steeply ascending path.

The main entrance, guarded by lions,  is at the end of the paved path which proceeds from the southwest through the little hamlet of Chandeshwari.  In front of the gate is an open area with a path on the left side, a recently restored pond and several other features which mark it as a zone of divine protection.  There are a number of buildings located on either side of the pathway.  They are mostly settled on the nothern side, however.  The main structure of interest may be the Chandeshwari sanctum which is important because it houses the ceremonial implements used during the annual procession of the Chandshwari divinity to nearly Banepa and back.  This god house has recently been preserved against further dilapidation by the local people from Banepa and Chadeshwari.  The temple precinct property is an irregular rectangle which is enclosed on all sides.  Adjoining it on the west is a walled garden that stretches down the hill towards the ghats.  The north and east boundaries are formed by a brick building which was recently completed with open rooms on the ground floor serving as a pathi-some of which are used for meetings and pujas- and with open terraces on the upper floor.  From the northeast corner of the courtyard there is access to this roof terrace and the path from here leads to the stream down the hill.  In the southeast corner is a rather dilapidated two-story house made of brick.  A ruined brick wall completes the enclosure on the southern side.

Within the temple precinct, in front of the main entrance, a brick building dedicated to Chandeswari Mahadev was erected in the 18th A.D.  This temple which houses the image of Chandeshwari and Shiva - the master of the slayer of Chand- can be recognised by the image of Shiva's vehicle, Nand, the bull, who faces the entrance.  A wooden niche over the entrance contains the image of Nriteshwar and inside the temple a Shiva linga is worshipped daily.

The Chandeshwari temple itself stands further to the South of the bri

ck paved courtyard.  It is a three-tiered temple with a lion and a peacock on a column in front of the main entrance.  The toran over the doorway is richly carved and contains several gilded sculptures.  On each side of the entrance there is a small niche that  houses a protective divinity.

All the walls on the ground floor were covered in the early '80s with white glazed tiles.and circling the temple except for the southern side and part of the eastern side are rows of votive oil lamps set on a wooden frame at about 90 cm above plinth level.  On the western wall is a multi-coloured fresco of Bhairab which is repainted each year for the festival.  Within the sanctum of the temple is a free-standing image of the goddess Parvati wearing rich silver ornaments.  On the other remaining walls several other clay statues are also worshipped.

Most of the windows are finely carved and contain carved heads of different divinities.  The carved struts are of a special quality and represent the images of the ashtamarikas and the ashtabhairabs.  The two lower roofs are covered with the original roof tiles , while the upper roof is probably gilded cooper with bells hanging from the eaves.  This roof is capped with a gilded gujur.


Requiescat in Pace, Mark Wilden

I had two close friends who made my childhood bearable.  One was Mark Wilden.  The other broke the news that Mark may have died recently.  Sadly, Mark, a most stubborn individual, had terminated our correspondence very abruptly a few years ago after we had a political disagreement.  Politics, for God's sake!  How can that ever be as REAL as friendship?

For Mark, things were black and white for the most part.  He had to provoke life into certainty whenever possible.

When we last corresponded, I wrote of my own struggle with severe, chronic pain and physical disability that was fast narrowing my existence.  At that point, he was sympathetic but had not begun his own struggle.  Today I discovered that he battled with cancer for quite a long time.  He appears to have done so with the quirky sense of humour that he always possessed.   He did not lack for courage.

Mark Wilden was one of the most brilliant and eccentric individuals I have known.  The description of 'an incisive mind' personified Mark's intellect.

For those who did not know Mark personally, his own words provide a little clue as to his personality:

'I seem to have a talent for wanting to do obviously desirable things that are either not implemented at all or explained badly.'

I met him for the first time in Mr. Hollenbach's classroom at La Jolla Elementary School. Both he and I had returned one summer to that classroom to visit our favourite teacher.   We connected instantly.  He was one of the most beautiful boys I ever saw and one of the most fascinating intellectually.  Although he was in my sister's class and not mine, we were almost the same age because of the grades I had skipped.  It was one of the reasons he and Don saved me from utter alienation, because the students in my own grade were so much older than I and my mother never allowed me to participate in their social events or 'rites of passage'.  With the Motley Crew, the acting company and circle of friends that consisted mainly of a few members of the 'gifted students' in my sister's grade, I was able to enjoy being a child.  Even then, Mark had a propensity for mischief and the ability to be infuriating but our friendship was beyond price.

He embraced my fantasies wholeheartedly.  We used to leave notes to one another in ciphers we invented in Butler's Lives of the Saints at the La Jolla Library.  That cloak-and-dagger stuff as well as the business of writing in code appealed to us both.  We prowled the streets of sleepy La Jolla with our fencing sabres, wearing makeshift capes, seeking worthy quests.  When one day, to our immense surprise and delight, we encountered a grown man wearing a cloak, we knelt before him, crying out in Latin our willingness to follow him in performing acts of chivalry to right all wrongs in the contemporary world.  The poor guy didn't know how to respond!  One saw a great deal of pseudo-medieval fashion among the 'flower children' in those days.    He did respond with a good grace, to his credit, actually, and I think was quite amused, although he did not mock us at all.

I confess I was surprised when Mark became a Roman Catholic very briefly, declaring it was for my sake, although I never would have asked that of him.  My own religion is fairly multi-faceted, embracing pagan beliefs along with those of the Roman Catholic faith.  Like Oscar Wilde, I find the trappings irresistable and it is the grandeur of the great Cathedrals, the scent of incense and the acknowledgement of a Goddess in the form of the Blessed Virgin that keep me at Mass..   Not as surprised when Mark threw out the baby with the bathwater, after demanding scientific proof of every verse and tenet that could not be had.  I do not think he ever accepted the concept of Faith, nor could he accept the difference between religion based upon universal myth and one based on literalism.  He had to be a fundamentalist or reject it completely.  I hope he has been proven wrong though and that there is existence after this one, even if it is not what any of us ever have envisioned!  I would hate to think of Mark Wilden being no more.

Selfishly perhaps, I regret the break in communication during the past few years.  I have lost far too many close and dear friends but most were older than I and older than Mark.  Their deaths, while still a terrible shock and blow in many cases, could have been foreseen.  Not so with Mark.  It grieves me most, however, to discover how long he suffered.  Death is one thing.  I think often, in my own narrow circle of pain, of Swinburne's declaration: 'For there is no God found stronger than Death and Death is a Sleep.'  Slumber is so often denied to those of us who suffer chronic severe pain and therefore, sometimes Death appears to be a promise of ultimate Salvation in the form of Peace.  It is the thought of Mark's suffering that hurts me even more than the thought of his Death.

From a distance, I only have been able to see that his wife was a source of great strength during this, a true helpmeet.  

All considerations of religion aside, I do know that Death never should be perceived as a punishment nor is life any sort of reward for merit.  Mark did not deserve his death nor do those who loved him or indeed the Earth itself deserve his loss.  May he rest in peace, after his long struggle with pain.

Swinburne, my favourite poet once wrote a dialogue with Death:

DEATH, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee:
Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built,
One shelter where our spirits fain would be,
Death, if thou wit?

No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt,
Imperial: but some roof of wildwood tree,
Too mean for sceptre's heft or swordblade's hilt.

Some low sweet roof where love might live, set free
From change and fear and dreams of grief or guilt;
Canst thou not leave life even thus much to see,
Death, if thou wilt?

II
Man, what art thou to speak and plead with me?
What knowest thou of my workings, where and how
What things I fashion? Nay, behold and see,
Man, what art thou?

Thy fruits of life, and blossoms of thy bough,
What are they but my seedlings? Earth and sea
Bear nought but when I breathe on it must bow.

Bow thou too down before me: though thou be
Great, all the pride shall fade from off thy brow,
When Time and strong Oblivion ask of thee,
Man, what art thou ?

III
Death, if thou be or be not, as was said,
Immortal; if thou make us nought, or we
Survive: thy power is made but of our dread,
Death, if thou be.

Thy might is made out of our fear of thee:
Who fears thee not, hath plucked from off thine head
The crown of cloud that darkens earth and sea.

Earth, sea, and sky, as rain or vapour shed,
Shall vanish; all the shows of them shall flee:
Then shall we know full surely, quick or dead,
Death, if thou be.