Silent Stillness

Let me first introduce some background to this reflection:

I wrote this reflection on the first day of Lent on March 2nd, 2022. I was looking through some old personal writings and diaries from travels in my early twenties, and I came across the experience that changed the focus of my life. I felt somewhat lost in my teens. My family situation was quite disruptive. As a result, I became a blatant overachiever, highly competitive, with ambition and motivation that outgrew the small town in which I was raised. I left at the age of 18 to pursue university studies in Paris, France. I left the church behind, family and friends behind, and dove into new adventures and travels that most women would not attempt. I did not realize at the time that my vagabond experiences would help me find my true self.

Silent Stillness recounts my profound realization during my journey across the Sahara Desert by camel train in Mali en route to Timbuktu.

So … silent stillness …

We are surrounded by sound: sounds of nature, sounds of human created civilization, sounds of our own heartbeat and breathing. When sound becomes noise, as it did inside of me, that cacophony became uncomfortable, unharmonious internal shouting. It was an overwhelming sensation, a mental disconnection and distraction from calm, focused thought. I was afraid of silence, of being alone with myself.

I had an epiphany about silence in my early 20s. I was a guest on a camel train following the Old Salt Road to Timbuktu. It was the desert - sands that changed with the light of the sun - hills and valleys that tricked the brain into monochromatic blindness. No vegetation, no sounds except for the pads of the camels marching forward. The quiet was unnerving at times - triggering a mix of emotions. To be alone among a caravan of man and animals in a sea of sand was both beautiful and frightening at the same time. Time was only marked by the movement of the sun by day and the stars by night.

My only survival was to let myself go. I emptied myself into this barren landscape and as I counted the days and nights, I slowly found myself in a state of rebirth. What mattered before this journey was not important. It was all about unsustainable lifestyle. Now it was raw pure drive for survival. Survival not only from the elements of this barren land, but also from myself - who I thought I was and who I was fearful of becoming. I say survival because this was the first time in my life I was confronting my whole being - mind - body - spirit … My true consciousness and the unadulterated essence of my being. There was no longer any escape. I was forced to think deeply. If I disappeared amidst these sands who would search for me? Would I be missed? Would I ever be found? Was my life to this point of any value? To anyone? To myself?

We arrived in Timbuktu and as abruptly as the silence happened, the sounds of a vibrant trade city overtook me. I was overwhelmed and I wept. I wept for the person I lost to the sands, and I wept for the person I found. And as I thanked the men who guided me to this outpost, I was grateful for my newfound friendships and humbled by their work. They carried the simplicity of life, the simplicity of survival in a land where many would perish. The trek to Timbuktu is real. We can find it in all of us if we just take the time for silent stillness. The time I spent on that trek in the desert changed my life, and my awareness of the world around me. It changed my relationships with the people I loved and the people I met.

After a few days of exploring and visiting with the Touareg and their families, I did not want to leave. But the world I came from was calling me back home to my studies. I took the next plane out, longing for these moments of silent stillness to stay with me, to heal me and cure me of all the wounds I carried for much of my youth.

We do not all need to travel far to find these things in ourselves that we are searching for. We just need to cultivate time and space to relish moments of awareness that hit us hard in our psyches so that we can become whole people. Compassionate, caring, and self-aware of how we fit into the world and its communities of people.

So I charge you all, to reflect, to think deeply, to confront, to wrestle, to take that trek through the desert sands. Rediscover and nurture all that will kindle you to live life fully, to empty yourselves of the cacophony of the world around you and discover the silent stillness that brings you closer to the spirit that guides our life. To delight in, not only in yourself but also in those around you that sustain you, that love you, that support you and that carry you in their arms along with the great spirit to a place that is fulfilling …  and in the places where you are worthy of that deep love. Embrace that sacred time. Be blessed in your moments of silent stillness. Amen.

Ten Years of My Beloved's Passing

Today, April 28, 2025, marks 10 years that my dearest beloved husband passed through the veil of eternity. A journey of grief takes both emotional and physical twists and turns. My journey is full of countless memories of an amazing life shared, in sickness and in health, in sex and in sorrow. As the years pass, the fondness for this man remains deeply in my heart. The legacy he left in all who knew him, is empowering. Grief in its most basic form is an expression of love. Grief is acknowledgement of the loss. It is a way we honor the life and love of those who have gone before us. And in my case, I watched my beloved’s light slowly fade, as his illness claimed his body. He was not afraid of death. His strong faith sustained him. He knew that in his life on the other side, he would be whole and healed. I was privileged to share final, loving words, holding him and softly kissing his lips as he transitioned. My new journey thus began - without him, without his quirky wit, without his sometimes-impish looks and teasing, his uncanny ability to make me laugh, his unfailing love for me. He had so many special gifts. His death drove me do something I never imagined I would do – write a book (or a series of 3) about my personal experience of sexual bereavement. I wrote the first poem of my book, Sex and Sorrow 365, the next morning. I share that poem with you as well as a video I conceived with my Producer and friend, Martin Case, who fearlessly navigated a difficult bereavement journey with me as we conceived the format of my first book. I am also grateful for the years of support of family and friends who supported my desire to blow open this topic for more open discussion, and over the years, discussions with suffering adults led to my decision to pursue advanced study of sexual bereavement as a doctoral dissertation topic. Finally, for all of you reading this, it is always my hope for those of you who experience deep loss, or serious life changes, or obstacles that road block your life desires, find a new path to a joyful and fulfilling life, and that the love you have experienced continues to nurture new love for new lives that flow into your lives.

The Call

  Silence in the dark of night

      Then the bell sounding

And the phone ringing and the mind swirling

The inky dark of night grows shadows

     That diminish all senses and

Words that are not heard, only reacted

     Time is out of line with space and

  The tragic new hits with unrealistic truth

That burns in one’s eyes and turns the world

           Of married into widow.

Post Covid Life and Two Gentlemen

It has been quite a while since the world experienced the covid pandemic lockdowns. And as I reconnect with my readers with a new blog, my focus will be around my many observations of our post-Covid world. The fallout from this period continues to affect our global societies. The discovery of a pandemic organism that rapidly spread across the globe is a poignant reminder that life can change in the blink of an eye. Countries locked down their citizens, families housing an infected member were separated by closed doors, businesses failed, and the result changed our way of life forever. The trauma from our individual pandemic encounters of lifestyle freedoms continues to permeate many difficult expressions of our social structures.

My critical curiosity has had me reflecting on the various societal changes.  One of my observations indicate that “Post Covid Life” social interactions are guarded. There is a shift in personal lifestyle, an obsessive energy to live life precariously on the edge of debt, to increase the acquisition of goods, to imbibe more substances deemed pleasurable, including indulgent foods, drinks, and drugs. Mental health issues are on the rise, along with obesity and illicit behaviors. Isolation and solitary existence have emerged as disturbing buzzwords. Can some of this be attributed to what one calls “avoidance behavior?” Or to grief, loss, fear, the inability to adapt and accept one’s life circumstances? Do I have an answer to any of this? No, I do not. Each of us needs to assess our own personal demons that have emerged from the result of this insidious virus, and decide for ourselves how we will cope, re-emerge, re-invent, re-connect, and re-create ourselves and the beloved society that is now post-covid.

Today, I share with you an encounter with two gentlemen.

I am a true extrovert and I enjoy meeting people. I have never met anyone who did not have an enchanting story to share. When I travel, I like to luxuriate, shall we say, in a dirty martini - precisely – a Tanqueray dirty martini, stirred, not shaken, two olives - at the hotel bar. This one evening, I sat down near a gentleman who was having a conversation with the bartender about the various tequilas he enjoyed. I was curious about his selections and his comparison to the production between tequila and mezcal, so I gently complimented on his expertise. He gave me a cold stare, as if to say, why are you invading my private conversation. The bartender diffused the situation by asking me about my knowledge of tequilas and that broke the ice with this person. We continued to have a reasonably convivial conversation.

Later that evening, after I had enjoyed a meal and my second dirty martini, another gentleman came into the bar as I was leaving. He sported a lovely black blazer, the fabric patterned with a paisley design, and embellished with a red rose boutonniere. His appearance made a dramatic statement. I complimented him. He turned toward me and gave me a stare that could have knocked any person to the ground. I repeated; “I love your jacket.” In a serious tone, he then asked me to take the seat next to him. I asked the bartender for a glass of water, and we proceeded to have an interesting conversation about our vocational lives and our travels. He was a fascinating character - once he let down his guard. And as I proceeded to leave and wish him a good rest of his evening, he waited for a customary French Bisous goodbye.

In my encounters with these two gentlemen, I would not regard their initial reaction to me as rudeness. I considered their disdain for my social interaction as an appeal to protect their personal space, and as a thus, and initial exhibition of mistrust in my intentions. So, I wonder, what impression did I make on these two encounters? Were they positive?

The Ankle Bracelet - Circle of Love (a short-short 2022 Birthday story)

This is a story of love. This is a story of a circle of metal representing many years of a marriage partnership well lived. This is the story of my ankle bracelet - the last birthday gift I received from my husband before he passed away. This bracelet has generated acceptant approvals, and at times judgmental disapprovals. I have never told this story, until now, for reasons I will not expound upon. But now, it is important for me to share with you this true story, and the reasons for which I cherish symbolism of a simple ankle bracelet.

 I have been so very fortunate to have shared a loving marriage with the most amazing man for 36 years. During the first half of our marriage, my man was the rockstar global business traveler and we saw little of each other. We knew this lifestyle involved sacrifice and I never wanted to hold him back. He reciprocated in my desire for independence, and our love was strong. Our respect for each other's independence far exceeded what others thought of our non-traditional arrangement.

The last half of our marriage gave us a few short, healthy years together and then, his failing health. My soul mate, my lover, my best friend, my husband was slowly fading from progressive health issues. I loved him more than ever, and some of our deepest, most difficult conversations came during the final three months of his life.

[Allow me to flashback to a balmy summer evening years ago as we sat on the screen porch by candlelight, drinking wine and watching fireflies flash in the darkness of the yard, hopeful that their blinking light display would capture the attention of a mate. Simply for a brief interlude of procreation. This distraction did not prevent my husband's words from piercing the very heart and soul of my being:“I'm going to die in this house,” he said. I was taken aback back and did not respond at first. And then I said, “Let us then die together.”]

 I did not realize at that time how prophetic his words would become.

The conversations we had in his last three months were particularly poignant. His thoughts about my life after he was gone seemed to focus quite a bit on the issue of sex. “What will you do when I am gone? Now is the time to start looking. I don't have much time left and I want you to feel free to fulfill your needs. I don’t want you to feel any guilt. I know how much you love me, and I know you will always love me,” he said. OMG - I was shocked! But at the same time, I was touched by the raw acknowledgement that my man would be so blatantly acceptant of his fate and voice his concern for my future of cultivating a potential, new, intimate partner relationship. His love for me was a deep, true, sacrificial love. I sometimes felt guilty that my love for him could not match his for me. He would disagree. “Shhh,” he would breathe, “it always has been more than I could ever imagine.”

I watched him weaken as the days and weeks passed. This, I felt, may be my last birthday celebration with him. (It was.) He made my day very special. A beautiful dinner of filet mignon with wild chanterelles and bearnaise sauce, roasted fingerling potatoes, green beans, an Oregon Pinot Noir from Cathedral Ridge, and dessert - a chocolate mousse with langues de chat. Yes, he was a great chef - a skill he honed over the three plus years as a house husband, and with inspiration from our many years of living in France. His illness had progressed to the point where work was too much of a burden on his body.

We cuddled on the couch after dinner with our digestifs and he gave me my present - a silver ankle bracelet - with the letters Y-O-L-O "You Only Live Once." He told me, “This is my message to you … “to live,” (as he loved to say) – “Your Hallelujah. Don't bother with those who judge you. Don’t bother with those who try to mold you into someone you are not. Always be the woman you have been ordained to be - free, independent, faith-filled, caring, joyful, driven, strong, (and as he always put it), a totally badass Chiquita!” This bracelet, this circle of love, has been on my ankle ever since. A remembrance of times when we were young, and in growing and aging together, saw the seasons pass.

As I write this so many beautiful memories of his life well-lived simply make me smile and I breathe in the beauty of this man. If he were here, I would tell him the stories of how his gift has initiated many conversations – some good, some challenging (to say it nicely), over the past 7 years. I would tell him how powerfully I feel his love when I wear it. I am proud and honored and I proudly hold in my heart the true special meaning of that bracelet – yes - unconditional love, forever respect, pure joy, amazing memories …  So every birthday since that last birthday with my husband, I reflect on that man's unselfish love for me. YOLO!

Gen C

I am Gen C

I love this world - this world of inconsistencies and contradictions. This world with its contractions and expansions, its daily recital that challenges us, inspires us. This world that we sometimes hate. This world of wanting and having and loving and dreaming. This world that causes us … to be.

We journey together through an in-between time. What was our known life was torn away from us in a brief second. It is a time of pandemic. An insidious pandemic that threatens not only our personal existence, but also the communal existence of our global community. This pandemic that shoots its arrows at us, cloaked in its invisibility, seeding us with painful depths of emotion, despair and physical longing. But this pandemic has also charged us with the challenges of what hope can look like in this midst of physical and emotional isolation, disrupted lifestyles and financial destruction. What do we want, what do we need?

We ask ourselves, over and over: Truly, who are we – as individuals, as a collective humanity? What will our history be? What will this world become? What will we contribute? What will be our legacy? Do we see obstacles or advantages? I have no simple answer, for I cannot divine the future. But my journey leads me through this bewildering narrative of life that will not end in despair. My choice is hope. I will persevere and defeat will not be my personal trainer.

I love this world, this world that reminds me that I am both vulnerable and precious. This world that agonizingly struggles with survival within all its inequalities. This world that strives to find answers to questions we thought we would never ask. This world that yearns for the day when intimate hugs and faces with smiles will no longer be hidden behind a pandemic curtain. This world that makes me question whether I have only this lifetime or many lifetimes.

This world is unfair. And I hope every day for a world where everyone needs everyone else. Perhaps this pandemic will be the catalyst to make the rich tear down their fences and get together with the poor. Perhaps the fed will feed the hungry. Perhaps the boundaries of nations will get torn down. Perhaps all the colors of our skin, and all our differing abilities will be celebrated. This world in which nothing is certain and there is so much to learn.

I want to be fully here. The beautiful and the ugly intertwined. I want to be in the future, pouring out  kindness, compassion and love to everyone. To be not only in this body, in this world, in this time and place, but to radiate forward into a future that will be better than before the cocoon of pandemic isolation, better than the person I could ever imagine to be. To spread my wings and embrace the birth of a new world where time and equal place and hugs and unmasked faces will again fully expose the beauty of our true humanity.

I love this world. I am Gen C.

©2020 beckedrake.com

How Time Passes By … Montreal

In the sense of human emotion, time is relative, time is unpredictable. It frames the moments of our lives, with laughter and joy, with burden, loss, and hopefully with a balance that allows for a fulfilling and meaningful existence.

I have returned to my magical city, Montreal, in an inauspicious moment in time for me, the fourth anniversary of my husband’s death. I feel inexplicably drawn to this city, as bees to nectar. There is a bitter sweetness of memory here, one that carries me forward, yet lassoes me, pulling me back in time with memories of the time my husband and I last enjoyed this city together four years ago.

Walking the streets of Old Montreal, I drink in the energy of a culture that embraces the humanity of each encounter. I feel, in many ways, safe and secure here. I feel free. I breathe in my true self. I peek through my mask and feel the freedom to reveal my true existence – a woman who is living with half a heart, seeking the other half buried deep inside of an identity not yet fully revealed. 

My walk takes me through the silence of the old cobblestoned streets, shadowed by modern architecture begging to co-exist as a backdrop to centuries of the brick and mortar that gave the city its identity. The old and the new, the past and the present, birthing a new song of generational soul.

Montreal is an intimate city. Its bustling streets emulate a resurrection quality. The synergy of its bi-lingual nature draws me close to its soul, its neighborhoods speak to my sensory memories and propel me toward self-revitalization. This city begs to swallow you into its joie de vivre. There is a deep intimacy of relationship here, a caring for the wholeness of a diverse community moving in its own purposeful rhythm.

I feel blessed to be part of this rhythm. That rhythm of life is a big part of my journey toward my personal wholeness. And as I reflect on the past four years, I have experienced much more joy than sorrow. My circumstances of loss may not be unique to me, but I have been privileged to be surrounded by caring and loving family, friends and colleagues who have followed and supported me in my journey. It is a journey that has a path that twists and turns and forces me to mask and unmask my emotions, sometimes publicly, sometimes in solitary silence.

 So, I continue my journey. I take my wounds of grief, wounds that leave deep scars, but also deep memories of love. I also rejoice, knowing that the memories of my deep, loving, relationship will always sustain me. And as I continue to grow in my personal, singular identity, the power of that love will always be present to sustain me.



Deep Waters and the Crashing Waves of God’s Love

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you …”  Isaiah 43:2

I read somewhere that shallow waters are noisy and deep waters are silent. Sitting on a beach listening to the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore is a meditative holy moment for me. Wading into the deeper water, the silence expands, the view of the horizon shortens, and the waves undulate in their rhythm building from silence to powerful loud crashing water pulling the earth back into the sea.

There is a mighty power in that water. The continual crashing of waves can be deafening at times. As wave after wave crashes onto the sands, the relentless pounding rearranges each grain of sand over and over again. Just like the relentless crashing of the ocean’s waves, God pours out his love for us. Whether we are near or far from him, his love for us never ceases.

 Sometimes, God feels near to me and other times he feels far away. When I am in deep waters, I am reminded that God calls out to me on deeper level. He reaches into my very soul. His love is directed into those deep places within me that need it the most. When my soul is parched and weary, when I feel I cannot go on, his waves pick me up and carry me toward the shore.

 Can you hear the ocean waves? Will you let God pour that unending love over you? Sometimes, we need to step away to a place where we can hear God reaching out to us. One of those special places for me is the ocean shore.

 May the crashing waves of God’s love knock you over and submerge you and carry you away.

 Will you let God love you like that today?

Music: “Deep Waters” from “Nightfall” Jimmy Haslip and Joe Vannelli

2010 VIE Records

The Journey of 1,000 Days

It is a puzzle … life. I walked beautiful Crane Beach in Ipswich, MA this past weekend - my annual tradition on the anniversary of my husband’s death. April 28, 2018 ended my journey of 1,000 days, bringing me to the end of a three-year journey of loss. The waves pounded the shoreline depositing the remains of broken shells and stones at my feet. Broken sand dollars were scattered about, their symmetrical beauty still captivating me.

I was reminded of my first walk on that beach 3 years ago. I had turned away from the pounding waves for a brief moment, and in an instant, the beach was covered with sand dollars. I’ll never forget that moment. It was as if God sent a message to me that day that I was not alone. The memory of that event still carries me through the many hills and valleys of emotions as I grieve.

It is hard to believe that it has been three years that my husband has gone to God. I journey alone, as a widow, as a single woman now. It has not been an easy journey. Even so, it has been an adventurous one. A new life, with new purpose and sometimes confusing direction. So many times I have questioned God, and the purpose of the direction of my solitary walk. So many times, I have felt euphoric for the joys of friendships and family. Yet other times, the decent into loneliness for my man has swallowed my heart and nipped at the very essence of my existence.

Rediscovery of oneself is messy. It is confusing. I have floundered many times, and yet, I have managed to come back and land on my feet like a cat. I ponder the newness of life -starting out again. I am a strong woman. But there are days where dark despair burrows deep into my heart. And then there are days when I rise above the darkness and soak in the light.

I don’t know when those days will come. I live in the moment. I stroll Crane Beach and I drink in the beauty of the creation before me. As I walk, changes are being made with each wave. The sand at the mercy of the water. The landscape, ever-changing. I am like that, too. Forever being molded and changed as part of God’s plan.

Sometimes I feel like a clam shell just ready to burst open and show the world that I am present, even when I am not sure what that presence is. Sometimes that shell needs to remain tightly closed. I am not the person I was before. I am not the same woman. I am whole yet broken. Lost yet found. I am the sand dollar, broken by the waves, yet resilient in my journey. One thousand days. The journey continues.

Becke Drake

This is how you add a post.