A political path to inner peace

My grandfather died in his home at the age of 88.  He was surrounded by his wife, four children, a handful of grandchildren and loved ones.  When he opened his eyes for the last time—just minutes before his last breath—my mother was standing on a chair, shouting and waving her hands.  “Dad, it’s me!  We’re okay!  It’s okay!”  A life fully lived, with only despair and joy pulling at the edges of the final passage.   As mom shouted on a chair and my sister held GrandSam’s hand, I was walking across a golf course in Kenya.  I glanced at my blackberry, nonchalant one moment, melting onto the green the next.  Salty sobs on African soil.  I was in Nairobi.  They were in New Orleans.  I felt the distance in my bones.  His departure was crushing. *** I met the man known as Dr. Sam Logan six years ago in Nicaragua.  Of course, I had known him my entire life—GrandSam was the only grandfather I ever knew. ...

As I mourn the loss of my grandfather, I found this reflection particularly beautiful ...  To deny the changeableness of life is like fancying a motionless sea, which can only exist in one's imagination.                         Bowl of Saki, December 6, by Hazrat Inayat Khan Commentary by Pir-o-Murshid Inayat Khan: If one studied the transitory nature of life in the world, how changeable it is, and the constant craving of everyone for happiness, one would certainly endeavor at all costs to find something one could depend upon. Man placed in the midst of this ever-changing world yet appreciates and seeks for constancy somewhere. He does not know that he must develop the nature of constancy in himself; it is the nature of the soul to value that which is dependable. But is there anything in the world on which one can depend, which is above change and destruction? All that ...

We are preparing for the passing of my grandfather, Dr. Sam Logan, Founding Director of West Jefferson Hospital, beloved member of Trinity Episcopal Church, lifelong supporter of the arts, world traveler, healer to the poor and needy, and adored pillar of his community. He will leave this world with a legacy of light and grandeur, carried on courageously by his wife, four children and their spouses, twelve grandchildren, three great grandchildren (with two more on the way) and hundreds, if not thousands, of friends and loved ones whose lives he has touched.  As we hold vigil for my mother's father, I am reminded of a similar process for my precious grandmother, Happy--mother of my father, for whom I was named, a giant of a woman despite her small stature. Below is the tribute that I wrote and read at Happy's memorial service, just one year ago.  I expect I'll write more about GrandSam as the depth of his passing settles into my spirit. I wish I could see the jig that...

I am lying beneath a cottony comforter on my godfather’s back porch.  It’s as light as the air—which is to say not at all.  But the thickness of both is deliciously enveloping, in that you’re-home-now sorta way.  It’s November 25, 1am on Thanksgiving eve, and the humidity belies New Orleans’ North American identity.  No passport needed, I’m in the tropics.  The New Orleans homecoming is always one of joyous chaos.  I can feel the energy somewhere over Lake Ponchartrain, rising above a horizon of dark water, followed by the lights of Metairie, Airline Blvd and the River Bend of the Crescent City.  Touched down, it’s soulful embraces and free-flowing, non-filtered love.  All around, don’t stop, can’t stop, oh-my-gah!-you’re-home-now love.  And I didn’t even grow up here.  Ahhh, yes. But. Lying here, mind brimming, can’t find the soft space of sleep between breath and thought.  My grandfather, a giant of a man, is not well....