We'll start with being born human, shall we?
I was born in San Francisco on September 2, 1952 at 3:30 p.m. We lived in South San Francisco in a little village type neighborhood situated directly across the road from all of the Cemeteries in Colma. My earliest memories include walking to the cemetery to visit the very large pond there and feeding the ducks. We did that often. We would bring a bag of bread crumbs with us, my brother in his stroller (or was it buggy back then?) and I at my mother's side. I was very impressed with the size and beauty of the cemetery. There was a large arch at the entry way that looked like the opening to a castle. There were beautiful, long rolling lawns with flowers everywhere. There were large crypts which all looked like Greek temples. Gorgeous ionic columns fronted the crypts and multi-colored stained glass windows made kaleidoscopes of color. There were many trees of all different varieties. There were large statues of angels. To my tiny mind and body it was amazing. I loved it there.
Additionally in the 1950’s the road was very quiet. The town was very quiet. Once all the fathers went to work, the neighborhood was left to just the mothers and children. Close to 100% of the mothers stayed home to care for the children in those days. It was a slower and quieter lifestyle. Therefore when we would go to feed the ducks, it was quiet except for the ducks and swans. A few cars would pass by, infrequently. There was no loud highway noise like there is today. I remember the way the sun used to look as it shone over the neighborhood and on the cemetery across the road from the duck pond. It would illuminate the dew in the early mornings, (which was generally when we would be there) and it was casting long shadows on the pond as it rose up over the trees to the east. To me it was an enchanted place. It was so very peaceful.
It was the sunlight that particularly captured my attention; the way it appeared in the quiet early morning hours. A particular response in me began to appear at that age. It began to trigger in me, altered states of consciousness. At least these were my first memories of being so intensely distracted by light that my awareness shifted. At first I noticed was how peaceful I felt at the cemetery duck pond and also there was a sense of expansion as I gazed upon the pond, the scenery, the sunlight on the lawns; I, myself was sort of breathless at the sheer loveliness of it all. I became enraptured, forgetting my little child self’s usual thoughts and concerns. I was transported on a feeling of wonder, awe and love. I suppose I was lost in reverie, but to say that implies I was 'elsewhere', when in fact I felt more present to the actual moment than in my usual state. If my mother or brother spoke to me, then I would sort of snap to, come back to myself just naturally. That phrase! "Come back to myself" says so much! The self I was returning to was personal consciousness, "Trudy" identity. Now I realize that most of us have these moments, the space between thoughts of "I" or "me" or "mine", but they are so subtle they're scarcely noticed.
The next thing I recall from childhood is something so hugely overwhelming I cannot adequately describe it. By no means do I assume that circumstances in my life are any more intense, exalted, grievous than those in anyone ELSE's life, but I can only reflect upon my own process. Please know that I deeply acknowledge what the "all of us" go through, even if my personal experiences are vastly dissimilar or similar. That said, I'll continue.
Let me set the stage a bit. As a small child, my chief characteristic was that of quiet observer. Both parents attested to that, however it was my father who accepted it and understood. I didn't have much time with him, however as he was gone each day to work. I DID have my one and only grandmother, my mother's mother (my dad had been raised in an orphanage) who was the light of my life. We were simpatico, we could ride the same "wave" as it were. I had a deep sense that she "groked" me. Where my mother was very concerned with the details of life; the particulars, all of the worrisome "do's" and "don'ts" of 1950's housewifery...(oy!) my grandmother was a much more relaxed human being. I recall sitting on her lap gazing out of our dining room window onto our front lawn where flocks of blackbirds would be eating the bread crumbs we'd put out for them each morning. (Oh yes, oh yes, we kept the neighborhood birds flush with Wonder Bread on BOTH sides of the highway!) She and I would sit peacefully, not saying much, perhaps simply "Look...." Both of us were one with the experience of the birds.
When Grandma would come to visit she took the streetcar then a bus, down the old El Camino Real to South City and my mother, brother and I would walk to the bus stop to wait for her. When she stepped off of the bus, it felt like Christmas to me...I was so thrilled that she was there. My heart felt near to bursting. We'd walk the few blocks to our house and Grandma would take off her coat and sometimes reach into her pocket and pull out a piece of gum for me. Gum! Gum was not on the shopping list at our house I can assure you! But when Grandma gave it to me, my mother would let me have it. Grandma had such an easy way about her, she always had a smile for me and her eyes were so kind. She exuded peace and serenity even though, I know now, her life with my grandfather was anything BUT peaceful, but that's a story for another day. I can't remember too much of our doings together during her visits; what has impressed me deeply, and did then, was how I FELT in her presence. Now I know it was being in the presence of unconditional love. She had it, she gave it, she WAS it. When she was there, I felt nourished. My soul was fed, nurtured, supported. What can one experience with another human being greater than this? So that was my Grandma. Life with my mother? Not so much....she, poor thing, had issues; a nervous temperament, a mis-matched marriage, gaps within her, those emotional gaps which make for lack of understanding of others. I loved my mother, I truly did, but it was Grandma who was my support, my ally, the Friend of my heart.
Of course you can guess what's coming....we all have our mellow dramas and this was mine. Yes, she died, suddenly and abruptly. I was still just three years old when my parents told me that Grandma had died. Strangely, I'd already had a convoluted premonition that Grandma was soon to die. Several months before that, she sprained her ankle and was on crutches and when I saw that...her standing on a corner on Church Street in SF with her ankle bandaged, crutches under her arms...I suddenly thought "oh no! Grandma might die from this! Grandma might die SOON!" The fear did not leave me. I became aware of her vulnerability somehow, even though, no one had spoken to me "officially" about death and I'm quite sure I didn't "get" it yet. Quite sure.
When my parents did tell me that Grandma had died, I asked if she was coming back ever. My father said "No, dying means that we will never, ever see Grandma again. She's gone and she is never coming back." Blow to my chest! Thud to the gut! Bodily shock! My little mind was trying to wrap around this fact. I asked my father "Does everyone die???" He replied "Everyone dies, we all die someday." Oh....can I explain the Existential Earthquake this knowledge rendered? My psychological and emotional Heart eyes flew wide open and I SAW. Oh. My. God! The generalization took place, that wonderful human feat that separates us from the apes...extrapolation. Suddenly I saw and thought "This place, this realm (not in those exact words mind you, but this is the GIST) is a place where anyone you love can be gone in an instant. Ripped away! This place is not as advertised and represented everywhere as "life"....this is a Hell realm...a place of suffering and we're all headed to more suffering. I got it: Impermanence. First Buddhist Teaching. Life is Suffering. I was in Existential crisis and became deeply depressed.
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