I made it out to California in early June for a rite which I do grudgingly acknowledge must come upon us all. It is a rite that comes unbidden and passes over the generation that was there before I was. In their appointed courses these seasons and moons around and above us roll on, and I feel these tides know nothing of we mere mortals beneath them and the heavens. But then there comes a season and a moon and when they pass they leave me and my generation now standing in a new place as we now become the ones who were before. I know am mindful those before me, and I treasure the space they hold in my soul, like the space where a cloud once was. Yet I know of these mortals who were before I was and I remember and hold dearly what I know once was in earlier seasons beneath the moon.
Aunt June spent many of her days of late in her "sacred cave", the home built by Uncle Al south of Santa Cruz, set back on the cliffs above the Pacific and a short walk down the street to the surf. Aunt June was the freest of free spirits; infusing her life with whimsy, travel and subjects metaphysical and stuffed with the full enjoyment of garden variety adventures. She knew people who could read your aura, she traveled to India and lived in the Auraville Ashram steeped in eastern though and mysticism. I remember Aunt June as one intently interested in hearing about your own passion and eager to suggest exploring deeper topics of interest. Visiting my four cousins at Aunt June's house for Thanksgiving, or just driving over as a family for a day at the beach was always for me an experience for which I looked forward. There were always stories of interest and/or humorous misadventure shared by everyone in the household. Aunt June the presiding quintessential free spirit filled the air with welcoming warmth and an unperplexed assessment of what the day brought before her. Aunt Junes passing is a great loss, for she was a great spirit, one I am fortunate to have know and experienced.
Aunt June's passing came just two day ahead of my parents scheduled visit in April. Both my parents and my two sisters and I returned in June for the remembrance of my mom's oldest sister. June's daughter, Carolyn had put together a well done event at the house, with a great sharing of stories from many friends and family, including grandson Daniel's story recounting his grandmother's fairy box that seemed to prove the existence of ephemeral fairies by the footprints left overnight in the sandy bottom - until he got wise to his grandmother's hijinx. But still, when confronted, June insisted that her planting evidence of fairies inside the box did not at all prove that those fairies don't really exist. She told young Daniel that when he got older, he would appreciate the mystery and truth of the unseen. Many people with connections to the Auraville Ashram came to remember and speak of June's spirit, counsel and support. Her son Grant played and sang for his mother and Carolyn released a box of Painted Lady butterflies and the end of all being said and done.
Aunt June, now and always, a Free Spirit.
Vaya con Dios Aunt June.
Aunt June spent many of her days of late in her "sacred cave", the home built by Uncle Al south of Santa Cruz, set back on the cliffs above the Pacific and a short walk down the street to the surf. Aunt June was the freest of free spirits; infusing her life with whimsy, travel and subjects metaphysical and stuffed with the full enjoyment of garden variety adventures. She knew people who could read your aura, she traveled to India and lived in the Auraville Ashram steeped in eastern though and mysticism. I remember Aunt June as one intently interested in hearing about your own passion and eager to suggest exploring deeper topics of interest. Visiting my four cousins at Aunt June's house for Thanksgiving, or just driving over as a family for a day at the beach was always for me an experience for which I looked forward. There were always stories of interest and/or humorous misadventure shared by everyone in the household. Aunt June the presiding quintessential free spirit filled the air with welcoming warmth and an unperplexed assessment of what the day brought before her. Aunt Junes passing is a great loss, for she was a great spirit, one I am fortunate to have know and experienced.
Aunt June's passing came just two day ahead of my parents scheduled visit in April. Both my parents and my two sisters and I returned in June for the remembrance of my mom's oldest sister. June's daughter, Carolyn had put together a well done event at the house, with a great sharing of stories from many friends and family, including grandson Daniel's story recounting his grandmother's fairy box that seemed to prove the existence of ephemeral fairies by the footprints left overnight in the sandy bottom - until he got wise to his grandmother's hijinx. But still, when confronted, June insisted that her planting evidence of fairies inside the box did not at all prove that those fairies don't really exist. She told young Daniel that when he got older, he would appreciate the mystery and truth of the unseen. Many people with connections to the Auraville Ashram came to remember and speak of June's spirit, counsel and support. Her son Grant played and sang for his mother and Carolyn released a box of Painted Lady butterflies and the end of all being said and done.
Aunt June, now and always, a Free Spirit.
Vaya con Dios Aunt June.
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| Grant plays and sings a song in memory of his mother |
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| My mother says a few words in memory of her sister June |
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| After all is said and done Carolyn releases Painted Lady Butterflies in memory of June - A Free Spirit |
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