Inshallah - A Mindful Approach to Dementia & Psychedelics

I have just returned from spreading Henry’s ashes with my two daughters. Our time together gave us a time to grieve. For it was the three of us that cared for and held loving presence around Henry during his final days and hours. We burst with tears, roared with laughter, and there was great tenderness as we reminisced so many memories. A bittersweet time, another goodbye, another guidepost along the journey—ultimately, a journey of life.

By the edge of a crystal-clear blue lake—one so large it spans miles—even countries, all the elements—the warmth of the late summer sun, the open sky above, the ancient minerals of the rocks and stones beneath my feet, the centuries-old, wind-blown, gnarled trunk of the bonsai-shaped pine I held onto for balance, the metal of the tire track serving as a barrier to the shallow shore—all present, greeting this most sacred moment. The wind blowing the ashes onto the sparkling light of the water’s surface while Henry’s poetic words were read:

Not need, not lack

All comes and goes…Inshallah

Not deed undone

All complete…Inshallah

Not treasure without

All Gold’s within…Inshallah

Not tomorrow sought

Daybreak every day…Inshallah

Not time begot

All is naught…Inshallah

Not Shangri-la

All just our lot…Inshallah

Not pietá

All death brings birth…Inshallah

(Note: The pietá is Mother Mary lamenting over Christ’s death.)

On what would have been Henry’s 80th birthday, more than half a year after his physical passing, seemed like the most appropriate time to spread his ashes. So much has transpired, and each ritual has served as a stepping stone along the way. The Celebration of Life three months after his passing and now this sacred ritual.

A deep place inside directs me to honor his first-year death anniversary, still many months away. In so doing, this entire year is a sacred time, as it is in so many traditions. This time continues to be held in an invisible shroud of tenderness. As I wake to the first morning back home after spreading his ashes, there is a definite feeling of greater lightness of being, a hopefulness of all good things. I sip my morning tea in the now crisp late summer’s morning air. I hold Henry’s mala beads with a deep sense of gratitude that he lovingly and knowingly handed his most sacred object over to me as I now continue with his blessings in my morning meditations. A daily connection to him can be felt in such a living way.

A gentle morning as my grandson’s cat I now care for stays cuddled by my side, happy for my return. I look through passages of books that have held inspiration. Being with Dying by Roshi Joan Halifax is in my hands. I reread the part of the dissolution of the body and its elements. Having been part of a training she gave to hospice workers over 15 years ago, I realize I never did refer to it during Henry’s actively dying days. I read the following passage:

“If warmth is still emanating from the heart, be particularly mindful of what is happening in the environment of the deceased. Buddhist tradition tells us that such warmth usually occurs in those who have some quality of realization at the time of death.”

Henry's heart stayed warm for over 12 hours. Those present commented on this fact. My daughters, ever vigilant, protective, and deeply attuned, ensured an atmosphere of pure love and peace kept vigil as the day broke to morn and through to the late afternoon when Henry’s body was taken from our home. Though Henry was not a Buddhist, reading these words brings a flood of tears and emotion. For it is the confirmation that Henry's deepest yearning was achieved.

Our spiritual path, each individual and intimate, is unknown to others and the outside world. Certainly, there are great teachers, saints, and inspirational spiritual leaders. However, it is in the silence of one’s own heart and mind that the fertile ground is nourished. Henry’s daily practice, his steadfastness to tending to this inner landscape, yielded the ultimate harvest. I’d like to think that the warmth Henry’s heart continued to generate after his physical passing is a direct message that I continue in the chambers of my own heart and mind on the path Henry and I shared together. It is now mine to walk without him physically by my side but certainly still present from his heavenly abode.

- Lauren Alderfer, PhD.