Shasta 2009 Reflection

Dear Family & Friends

There is a scar on my heart forever or until.

What can I possibly say to describe how powerful this year's memorial turned out to be? I am not sure but I will do my best. I went to my sacred lake with my good friend Bob. It was his first trip to the lake. He stayed for three nights and left Tuesday morning. I spent the next two nights by myself. On Thursday night our son David and his friend Shawn came up and stayed for the last three nights. This year's Spring trip was off the f'ing charts as regards the weather and the fishing.

The temprature hovered between 80 to 90 for most of the trip. The winds never exceeded 10 mph. I stopped counting fish when we hit 100. Statistics? Who needs em! It was awesome. Sunshine, flat waters, warm air, non-stop fishing, magnificent dinners, mountains carved out of limestone and granite, ice cold water flowing into the lake, purple wildflowers growing in abundance among the strong, green pines.......
the scent in the air was so intoxicating. ......
and wherever we went we trolled to get there. Thin Fins, Kastmasters and Rapalas lit up the waters of fish that were so hungry they angrily bit every lure we trolled by them. Silver king salmon that had grown to 3 pounds were smoking the Ambassadeur reels on my GT Loomis rods.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ Z......lines stripping away as if missles had been launched. In fact, that was what we nicknamed them when they first appeared in 1993. Missle Fish. Ever see a salmon strip line off a reel? Ow baby! And the trout and bass were not to be left out. What we lacked in catching any big monsters was made up in volume. We had double hits and triple hits. The Pandemonium Express.

Ah man, how I love this lake. To stand with a pole wrestling a silver salmon to the boat while gazing at towering mountains with so many hues of green bursting your eyes with the thoughts of life. That's the ticket.

Yet, that was all just background for this trip. My (our) annual Spring Memorial on Shasta was centered in the middle of the trip; which meant I would be conducting it alone. After providing Bob with the trip of his life (his words, not mine) I went cruising back to the salmon strike on Dry Fork Inlet. The night before we had caught our limit of 3 pound salmon in the midst of a voracious bite. We had been up late fishing our butts off the last three nights. The cruise to Dry Fork was a 2 1/2 hour ride from Holiday Harbor. I cruised into the sun, as she hit late afternoon and early evening.

How did I feel? I felt tired and lacking. The memorial was due up in just a few hours. Our 10th memorial. Something about the number 10 was sucking the life out of me. Call the angels? With what? I have no power over them. Do I, did I.....really think that they answered our prayers and came to hear the names and messages of hope and love? Would this be the first trip that provided no signs, leaving me to make something out of just my own thoughts and dreams. I dreaded feeling incompentent to the task at hand. I was feeling borderline empty. 10 years is an eternity without our precious daughter Stacia. I miss her so much.

So, there I was, just sailing into the sun, wondering how it would go and if I maybe should think about ending this tradition. Funky. Music.
Music. I needed music. I had about eight cases of CD's with me. I grabbed the nearest case and started working my way through it. Blind Faith. Blind Faith! Hey, there's a CD I had not listened to in a very long time. It caught my eye because I had just bought tickets a few weeks ago to see Steve Winwood reunited with Eric Clapton on June 26. Blind Faith was the super group that came after Cream. It only lasted for a very short while. Put that on the player I said to myself.

The first song on that CD is called "Had to Cry Today." Soon I was listening to "I'm all alone and can't find my way home." Ah, how appropriate. Boing!!! My nerves lit up instantaneously and my attention laser-beamed in on the title of the band and album. Blind Faith. In the flash of an eye, I was feeling presence. I mused to msyelf. Blind Faith. Good Lord, that is it. That is what everyone needs in passage from life to death and......... .new life? Blind Faith. How do you get it I thought to myself. I know how I got it, but what about everyone else?
I don't know, truly. But I know that everyone needs it.

I looked to my side, and there was a sea of golden pollen all over the top of the lake for what seemed miles wide. The Golden Sea. Usually I would hold my nose driving through such a soup, but this time I looked more closely and reminded myself that those were seeds. A zillion seeds making up a sea of gold I was in. I slowed down to a bare limp and just then a new song came on the player; it was "Sea of Joy." You got to be kidding me I thought to myself. Now, a smile, a very big smile was breaking out across my face. They are here, they are waiting.

I looked ahead to the opening of the Dry Fork Inlet. The lake is about 500 feet deep in the middle of the entry to the Inlet. It is big and very beautiful. On the left hand mountain was something new. The forest had largely been burned to the ground. Not 100%, but a lot. That is the Burnt Forest I said aloud. The burnt forest represents my broken heart.
It represents all our broken hearts. It's ok to cry now. All the fallen soldiers of life that have gone on before us. There they lay, off to the left........ in the Burnt Forest. Seems I have to pass by it before I can get to my resting place. OK, I will.

Stacia's Face Over the Mountain, 2009

In time, my houseboat passed by that deadness and through the opening into the Dry Fork Inlet. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the thunderheads gathering on distant mountains, far away. In here, though, I felt surrounded by beauty and peace. Again I slowed to a crawl. I put John Mayer on the radio, and he crooned for me. Oh, John. You have such a lovely voice. Sing it brother. My boat had sailed into Shangrila.

I had made it through the Gates of Heaven, I felt. Now, I was not lacking any conviction or ability to conduct our memorial. I was charged like a 1000-watt battery.

I tied up in the salmon hole and brought my bottle of wine and cup to the back of the boat. I turned on some cool blues and laid out more music by Dan Stevens and David Bailey. At exactly 7PM, I started in with the prayer Shangrila. I would exhort and shout to the angels my request for their presence. But, I would inititally only get about six lines into the paryer before I would start to cry my eyes out. My throat would fill up with butter and be incapable of speech. There I was, on my knees again.
I asked for God to pardon my delay as I cleared my throat. Arrrggh.

That's when it happened. To my left I sensed motion and turned my head to see what was creasing the edge of my vision. It was a huge, gray whooping crane. Just floating effortlessly on the rising air in the fork, she glided from left to right, across my lateral line she flew. She turned a head to look at me as she passed. I kneeled staring with a hung jaw at the awe of her movement across my face just as I had started to call the angels. Wow. Oh yeah. I am being signed. Right on cue, a young bald eagle majestically entered into the right hand fork where I was tied up.
She also was just floating on the hot air rising from the canyon. She dipped sharply and snatched a trout or salmon off the surface of the lake and went winging away.

I resumed the memorial. I completed Shangrila, shouting to the angels I believed were present. Then I read our prayer for this year. "Have you Ever wished upon a fallen star." Whoa, my gosh that praayer has such an edge to it. Sorry angels. I then gave life to every single name and message of love that was shared with me; and also to many of my oldest friends in the brain tumor community that I am out of contact with. I spoke with conviction to the angels and I asked them to not only hear the names of our beloved, but also to comfort all of us. Pleaseeee. Help us.
Help us learn to live again, without doubt or apprehension. In due course, I finished the memorial along with a great bottle of Merlot.
I felt so honored and lit up. Thank you angels, I said. Thank you so much. Please look after my girl.

Then I sat and looked across the fork at the twilight and dusk. The thunderheads had formed over the mountains and the clouds were lit up with an orange fire from the sun reflecting off the bottoms of them. Lightning broke out on the other sides of the fork for about a half hour. Our meomorial ended with a brilliant display. I felt so content. I took some pictures of the skyline. So bright, I could barely see a thing. Until, of course I got them home on my computer. Where I see the face of our daughter, our darling Stacia shaped in the cloud behind the mountain. Her eyes are on upon me, saying, "Don't worry dad. I love you."

God bless
All my love
George

P.S, Can tears bleed like blood? I guess they can. Amen.