Dance, then wherever you may be…

How is the dance of Patsy’s life and remembrance from this past weekend inspiring more dancing in your own life this week? What surprising and beautiful ways will the dance go on? How will the dance that was and is Patsy remain alive in our lives?

I want to express our deepest gratitude for the sacred weekend we just experienced in the remembering and honoring of Patsy’s life. To Patsy’s family of Benedictine sisters who so gracefully came together to celebrate her life and welcome the beautifully woven cloth that is her broader community. Their role in a most beautiful liturgy, inurnment, and reception. To the loving support from the St. Nicholas community led by Judy Borchers, Marianne, Deacon Chris and our spiritual guide and celebrant, Father Bob Oldershaw. Not to mention all the volunteers, gifted musicians and support staff of St. Nick’s, whose names I don’t know but whose loving presence was so powerfully felt last Saturday.

To my mother, Mary Ann, whose tireless, loving planning, and generosity made so much of the weekend possible.

To the Benedictine Sisters who hosted us for mass in their sacred chapel and lunch on Sunday in the monastery that has been such a central part of Patsy’s life, we thank you.

What an amazing turnout in-person and on the livestream. Thank you for making the physical and emotional journey to give witness to a life so fully lived and so deeply felt in the world.

On Sunday, my sister Danielle and I, along with our parents, had the honor of going through Patsy’s office and her incredible archive of memories, homilies, speeches, and courses led. She left us with not only a scrapbook of the past, but also a roadmap to a lifetime of timeless lessons learned. I have copies of some of this material and hope to share more of these treasures in the weeks and months to come. Know that she cherished every card and letter sent to her. That she saved them all.

I had a few people ask for the name of the poem I read at the service. It’s called Indian Tapestry by Julia Esquivel from her collection entitled Threatened With Resurrection: Prayers and Poems from an Exiled Guatemalan. As mentioned, it was a book that Patsy had gifted me a year ago, shortly after her diagnosis. We never talked about any of the poems in the book. She simply said, “you should read this, you’d like her work”. I had heard similar words about other books from her and I knew that I would have to be careful about when I did open that book. Careful because it was likely, like so many other books from her, to change my life and I would need to be ready for that…as the Irish say, to be able for it. So when I finally pulled it from my bookshelf a few weeks ago, I read the entire collection, paying close attention to the pages she had dog-eared. I found myself reading and re-reading Indian Tapestry and loving the image of the old weaver and of the divine feminine that surrounds my existence from my grandmother, Patty Crowley, to the next generation of Patsy and my mother Mary Ann, to my wife Tara. I had a knowing that this was the poem I should read.

Indian Tapestry by Julia Esquivel

When I go up to the HOUSE OF THE OLD WEAVER,

I watch in admiration

at what comes forth from her mind:

a thousand designs being created

and not a single model from which to copy

 the marvelous cloth

with which she will dress

the companion of the True and Faithful One.

Men always ask me

to give the name of the label,

to specify the maker of  the design.

But the Weaver cannot be pinned down

by designs,

nor patterns.

All of her weavings

are originals,

there are no repeated patterns.

Her mind is beyond

all foresight.

Her able hands do not accept patterns

nor models.

Whatever comes forth, comes forth,

but she who is will make it.

The colors of her threads are firm:

blood,

sweat,

perseverance,

tears,

struggle,

and hope.

Colors that do not fade

with time.

The children of the children

of our children

will recognize the seal

of the Old Weaver.

Maybe then

it will receive a name.

But as a model,

it can never again

be repeated.

Each morning I have seen

how her fingers

choose the threads

one by one.

Her loom makes no noise

and men

give it no importance,

None-the-less,

the design

that emerges from Her Mind

hour after hour

will appear in the threads

of many colors,

in figures and symbols

which no one, ever again,

will be able to erase

or un-do.

Then on Sunday, when we were going through her writings, I found several notes and speeches referencing the Old Weaver and this very poem! In her notes for the talk she writes:

         “Good Morning!

         I want to read a poem to you written by a Guatemalan woman theologian when she was in exile in Costa Rica. Her title is “Indian Tapestry”. You know that some of the most brilliant weavings of cloth come from Guatemala and the Mayan people…

         Our life stories also “dress” the companion of the True and Faithful One as we know – we are the face of God here on this earth.

         The colors of our threads are many-hued

         They too are “firm”…perseverance, tears, struggle, joy and hope

         These “colors don’t fade with time”

         Our stories are unique and precious”

Precious indeed. These colors will not fade with time. As Danielle said, so beautifully in her eulogy, “the world certainly feels dimmer without her here. But, I know that her light in this world will continue to shine. And, the majesty of her Eternal Life will be forever.”

A haiku written on the flight home from Chicago, for Patsy…

                   You, the softest blue

                            Born of petals, ready the

                                      dance of earth to air

With love and gratitude for Patsy and for this blessed community. May we stay connected by the Weaver's carefully chosen threads.

Bryan

Link to video of Mass of Christian Burial

Celebration of Living Video August 2023

Interview with Patsy from November 2023

Great Lake Sunrise Poem