THE STONE MADONNA

This story is excerpted from the book  Halfway Across the River: Messages of Hope from the Other Side. 

It details a true life event that absolutely changed my relationship with reality.  I share this event not because I want to seem extraordinary, quite the contrary. Indeed I coveted this event away from others for many years so as not to   “commercialize” it in any way. It was Margaret Borwhat who shook me from my spiritual slumber and scolded me for my selfishness… how ironic reality can be! I thought that by keeping the event to myself I was staying humble. It was my dying friend who gently taught me that I was not  being humble, but instead weak. It was Margaret who took me by the hand and led me to own my story. As always she was the master at performing small tasks with great love, and so she did with me.

So this story…. It is not meant to glorify my event, but instead to remind you that events such as this are our birthright. My Stone Madonna appeared so that I could follow my destiny, just as Don Borwhat’s white rock appeared so that he could follow his.

May your eyes be enlivened by this story and these images, so that you too may find the gifts that lay on the pathway before you.

 

The Stone Madonna

During the summer of 1998 my family and I took a vacation to Carmel, California. I had the opportunity to meet an artist named Andy Lakey. Andy is well known for a specific type of angel artwork that I had been collecting. He was familiar with my work with the dying and had agreed to meet me shortly before his public art show that night.

I waited quietly in the gallery anticipating Andy’s arrival. Before long the door opened and I found myself face to face with Andy. A combination of intensity and warmth, we spoke easily, as if we had been in comfortable conversation together many times before.  As our conversation ensued, Andy suddenly became pensive. He placed his hands on my shoulders and looked as much at me as through me as he spoke these words, “You came into this life to write. You came to teach and to tell the story that your soul knows.” He was very intent as he said this, to the point that I looked away and stammered a bit. 

He said it one more time, holding my gaze, and then quietly excused himself. Although these words may sound benign, at that moment they hit me like an avalanche. His words caused something deep within me to stir. The rest of the evening carried on without reference to what he said, but I felt strangely altered by our conversation. Rather than feeling excited, I began immediately to feel a sense of trepidation. There was an instant recognition within me of the great responsibility taken on when choosing to ‘tell one’s story.’ The silent doubts quickly swept in, and I felt I had taken a step forward into a world that seemed unfamiliar and completely beyond my control.

The next morning, we awoke to a beautiful coastal day. Never having been to Carmel before, I decided to take the kids to the stunning white sand beaches. My sleep the night before had been fitful and my mood was somber. My spirits lifted as the beach came into view. At first walking and then beginning to run, we tumbled head on toward the beach. The kids were laughing as they struggled to stay upright running down the steep decline which led to the water. 

As we began to walk along the beach, the relentless pounding of the surf and the cool salt water breeze made a natural backdrop for a deep sense of reverence. As the kids ran before me darting in and out of the small waves that lapped at the shoreline, I silently began to pray. I had been as equally touched as disturbed by the words Andy Lakey had spoken to me the evening before. If, indeed, I did have a sacred calling that involved writing books, I felt incredibly unsure of how to even begin the process. One look at the beaming faces of my two children in the shallow surf told me that my moment of quiet reflection was likely to be short lived. Wasting no time at all, I simply closed my eyes and sent out a simple and sincere invocation to the universe. My request was simple: If my writing was indeed a way to heal the lives of many, then I needed a sign. 

With that I left my worries in higher hands, ended my moment of reverence and went to join my children on their walk down the beach. The heaviness I had felt since meeting Andy was replaced by a deep sense that this situation now lay in higher hands. Although writing had always been my dream, it was a dream I had thus far been unable to manifest in my life. I felt liberated, liberated from Andy’s expectations and in a sense free from my own hopes and dreams about writing a book.

The kids began running slightly ahead of me. As I walked along in the surf, enjoying the interplay of receding sand and surf beneath my feet, a small stone that had been tumbling recklessly back toward the ocean, suddenly anchored itself at my feet. Although there was no sound, a tangible force held the stone still as the rushing water receded around it.

As my eyes began to assimilate this form it was as if the waves had stopped. I stared in stunned silence at what lay beckoning at my feet. I knelt down and with shaking hands picked up what I have now come to call the stone Madonna. The significance of this small stone which lay in the palm of my hand cannot readily be conveyed in words. It was an exact replica of the central figure on my meditation altar at home.

I turned the small icon over in my hands and was utterly speechless at the detail of this gift from the sea. My daughter came to see what it was that so gripped my attention. In wide-eyed wonder she squealed that this was “the mommy and baby lady” that I loved so much. Her deep blue eyes looked at me approvingly and she scampered off to find a treasure of her own.

I stood up, my eyes shifting from the clear blue sky to the outstretched horizon of the sea, to the small figure in my still shaking hands. A visual trinity was forming around me as I stood in the surf, white foam mandalas swirling around my ankles. As I turned to walk back to my children, nothing was as it had been. I began to walk a path that moment which to this day continues to unfold.

Upon returning home, I remained in a deep sense of reverence, literally seeing the world through eyes that seemed to have been enlivened by some inner force. I made my way through those first few days somewhat superficially, still feeling the quiet hum of divine contact within me. Five or six days after returning home, I went to our local grocery store to retrieve our vacation photographs. As I finished my grocery shopping, I absentmindedly reached into my purse to peruse our photographs. I was wholly unprepared for what was waiting for me.

The first dozen pictures were vintage family vacation shots. I smiled as I relived our outings in Carmel. In the middle of this envelope of vacation photos was a picture taken on the beach the day the stone Madonna appeared. My hands began to tremble. In front of me was a picture of myself and the kids, ocean waves in the background.

The sky was a beautiful azure blue, and above us are dozens of opalescent balls of light. They looked like small orbs descending upon us. The scene was breathtaking in its sheer beauty. It had been snapped just a few minutes after the stone had washed onto the shore before me and as I looked down at this picture, I was overcome with the grace I had been given. Leave it to me to have one of the most profound moments of my life while standing in the middle of a grocery store. The universe has nothing if not a sense of humor. 

I began to look around the store now, feeling a sense of urgency, trying desperately to get my bearings. As I stood in the middle of that busy supermarket, unbeknownst to anyone else, my world was shifting around me. I had the unmistakable sensation that my feet now lay on a distinct path and that I was urgently being guided to follow.

It is said that when our calling arrives, the whole universe becomes very, very still, as if our guardian angels hold their breath, waiting to see if we can hear the still small voice that tells us who we are. On this day that inner voice was not so still and not so quiet. As I left the supermarket I walked out the door into a brand new world. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I agreed to answer the call.