I dreamt of my late friend Betty last night. She and I had a screen friendship. And as she began to die, we held hands via the screen. Sometimes the screen works better than real life because essence is directly there without interference of the ego.

We were both alone in our homes for the most part and preferred it that way. We valued honesty and simplicity on every level. It was a destined connection that filled both of our needs.

We seldom talked philosophy. More often, it was about what we had for dinner or how we got out of the house for a bit but enjoyed returning home. The need was that she was dying and I was mourning and we did not keep that from each other. We were just normal people in abnormal situations.

One thing about online spirituality is that it allows people to get away with too much. Cutting and pasting philosophy is seductive and rather non-productive.

Facebook does not allow the time to develop deep relationships. It casts a broad net but no one goes deep.

Betty began emailing me on her laptop. As she weakened, her sons gave her an iPad she kept in bed with her. She didn’t read my writing; she was my friend first and foremost. I could have been the worst writer on the planet but I could make her laugh. And boy, did she make me cry.

She had this thing about flowers and scents. She found a candle that said “Bob’s Flower Shop” and I got it in the mail the morning after I had cried out for him in despair.

Another time she kept urging me to buy some roses for myself. I tried but didn’t get the job done. So the next day, my maids brought me 3 pink roses in a vase. Betty had bought herself 3 the day before.

She would send me songs that would find me collapsing in front of the Mac crying like a baby. She knew how to relieve my sorrow in that way.

When she got ready to “go home,” she couldn’t eat. But her son emailed that she was lying in bed holding a piece of toast and smiling. Just holding it made her happy although she knew she couldn’t eat it. Her last words to me, conveyed by her son, were that of a child. I forget what they were exactly, I will have to look them up. But she was telling me how much she loved me. And she died quietly in her own bed.

If you are halfway human, your eyes have misted up. If you are 100% human, you may be ready to toss out doctrine in favor of real sorrow that we humans die and the ones left behind miss them. No philosophy helps there. But the softened heart now breathes easier and is more ready for true simplicity.

Why complicate things when there is so little time?

Love,
Vicki