Love and Death

Surveys report that a large number of Americans believe in the existence of ghosts or spirits. And when I was in college directing a children's recreation program on a Menominee reservation I heard frequent everyday stories of warnings, appearances or visits by ghosts. I remained open but skeptical. I mean, thousands of years of philosophic thought and theology seem to suggest that all we can really know is the existence of a mystery, of transcendence.

When my father died many years ago, something happened I'd never experienced before. The night after he died, I was getting ready for bed and suddenly knew there was a presence in the room -- something was definitely taking up space. At the same time, I felt a prickly, almost electric feeling around me and somehow knew my father was in the room. I was weeping on and off during this, but the presence-- whatever it was-- was oddly comforting.

Often the off stage experience of a group of actors mirrors/parallels what is being said on stage in their play. On Friday my high school drama students performed a short poetic piece for El Dia de los Muertos/Ancestor Day. Many of my students, too, had seen ghosts or spirits. All held their loved ones who had passed away close in their hearts. In the middle of the frantic chaos of rehearsal no-shows, mistakes, blaming, thefts, yelling, arguing, I somehow saw something like love start to emerge among the fractious groups of students, as they let go of their resentments in order to perform the piece well. Perhaps the beautiful words they themselves had written, and were learning to present with ritual and music, started to sink in. The seeds of community, which is an expression of love, were born.