October 21st, 2023

Personal Reflections

I passed this park frequently for years and never noticed it. Tomorrow will be 4 years since my father died. And though this park is nestled right in his neighborhood, we never took the time to stop here.

Today we spoke about time. Gracie shared that every moment is an eternity. The time when he was here felt so fleeting. Our special moments, ones I’d hoped would last forever, are gone. I want the joy to last for an eternity. It’s fleeting, never to return in the same way.

Gracie reminds us that form is always changing. But the memories, and emotions are resonant. That feels better. But. I do not want form to change either. But I can’t resist that.

The sound ceremony was generative. The sound was an anchor. Baldwin Hills Park was sacred space. The ground was laced with emerald colored clovers. The sky was the richest periwinkle. The sun oscillated between various shades of gold. The breeze whispered and then roared.

It is interesting how, with an anchor, everything else comes into clearer view. With the anchor of the sound bowls, sounds that were muffled were sharp. The birds in their chorus were a supportive melody. The hum and whistle of the expo line, with safety bells in its wake, the gentle basketball being bounced by a lone player on a court. The cheers and whistles of the flag football team. Each ebbed and flowed in their turn, layering on top of each other to form a suburban soundscape in the middle of the city.

How gentle and how generative to sit in synchronicity with one another. I wonder how different our experience would’ve been if we would’ve gone to Norman O Houston park instead. Gracie reminded us that because Norman O Houston and Kenneth Hahn are so immersed in the urban landscape, it would’ve been harder to find “free time”. We would’ve been more acutely aware of, and at tension with, our positioning in the center of the city.

When my father was alive he was constantly chasing the borders of the city. Trying to find new spaces, deeper spaces, and new heights. When I was with him, riding in his Jaguar toward the beach, time stopped.

Time and memory while grieving are tricky work. Memories can feel sweet and gentle, but they can be hauntings, too.