Monday, November 18, 2013, Editor: Gloria Lee

Laurie Anderson’s farewell to Lou Reed

As meditators, we had prepared for this – how to move the energy up from the belly and into the heart and out through the head. I have never seen an expression as full of wonder as Lou’s as he died. His hands were doing the water-flowing 21-form of tai chi. His eyes were wide open. I was holding in my arms the person I loved the most in the world, and talking to him as he died. His heart stopped. He wasn’t afraid. I had gotten to walk with him to the end of the world. Life – so beautiful, painful and dazzling – does not get better than that. And death? I believe that the purpose of death is the release of love.

http://exopermaculture.com/2013/11/07/laurie-anderson-on-life-and-death-with-her-husband-lou-reed/

This story is from the November 21st, 2013 issue of Rolling Stone.

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WHAT I MEAN WHEN I SAY 'LIGHT'

When I tell you that you are Light, what I mean is not this ray of moon stuff, or a golden kiss on green Summer leaves.

I do not mean what pours over roses, anointing them with the blood of the afternoon, or a passionate chorus of atoms in the carillon of molecules.

I do not mean the ancient caress of stars on your retina, their wine taste spilling down your optic nerve into the hidden chalice behind your face.

I mean the Light inside light, I mean the rustle of bright darkness, I mean this edgeless wave of awakening, the tremor of emptiness, the spasm of gravity curling unboundedness into an electron.

I mean the blossoming of the void into a golden flower.

I mean your infinitesimal joy, tingling through the brilliance of bewildered flesh at the slightest touch of my love.

There is a current of water in the sea, my dear, a river of wind in the sky, a spiraling of crystal in the stillness of a stone.

There is a trumpet of whiteness in the twisting silence of a lily's seed, a diamond Goddess undulating up your spine the instant you repose most dark and hollow.

Just so, dear one, what I mean by Light cannot be seen by looking.

Let webs un-weave. Let gazes return to the gazer.

Meet me here, where your Radiance and my Radiance have the same birth.

by Fred LaMotte on Facebook