We are all connected.

Love is stronger than death even though it can't stop death from happening, but no matter how hard death tries it can't separate people from love. It can't take away our memories either. In the end, life is stronger than death. Unknown

There are some moments that are so God-infused they take my breath away.

I walked into the room for my group meditation last night, and one of the practitioner's, D., greeted me with, "I'm better now that you're here."

The earth shivered. The stars aligned. I breathed deeply of God's comforting breath warming my heart.

Those words are the same I had spoken early that afternoon at the memorial service for a staff member who passed away on May 17th.

It's how he used to greet me.

Hi! I'd say as I walked into the building and saw him with his ubiquitous janitor's cart, radio softly playing rock. How are you?

"Better now that I've seen you," he'd reply. Or, "Great now that you're here."

And we'd laugh. I'd do a couple of dance steps to whatever was playing on his radio and he'd play his air guitar.

We celebrated his life yesterday. Celebrated this man who for thirty years had wandered from bar to bar searching for solace from the devil that pursued him and wouldn't let him go.

He arrived at the shelter in 2002, a broken and lost man. He told me once that he'd come with the intent of collecting his thoughts long enough so he could end his life. And then he walked into a place that made sense to him. That accepted him exactly as he was. And he let go of drinking to embrace being part of making a difference in other people's lives.

I wrote about Ron just before his passing. I'd visited him in the hospital and given him 3 origami cranes and told him the story of Sadako Sasaki. He passed away three days later.

One of my co-workers searched and finally found family members. An aunt, three cousins and a great nephew came to the service. They hadn't heard from Ron since 2001. They hadn't known where he was or even if he was alive. After the service his aunt came up to me and asked, "Why didn't he contact us?"

There were tears in her eyes. Confusion. Pain.

Shame, I told her. Shame and the fact he loved you so much he couldn't believe he deserved your forgiveness or your love.

We always loved him. We would have forgiven him.

I gave her a hug.

He couldn't forgive himself, I replied.

At meditation Ron was present. He was safe. At peace.

So was I.

After the first segment of the meditation I told the group about D's words when I had arrived and their impact on me.

Let's slip back into the silence, our meditation guide suggested and Louise, you stay in that place where you saw Ron and we'll be with you. In the creative space of our imaginations, let's stand on a mountaintop and we'll support you.

It was the 'support' that drew the tears out of my heart. The realization that I am not alone. It is not 'me against the world'. But rather, 'me and the world'. We are all connected. All created of a single strand of DNA from one 'data base woman' 90,000 years ago that wove itself around another strand of DNA which belonged to a 'Y chromosome Adam' to create the first off-spring.

We are all connected.

I sat in the circle and defied my ego-driven belief -- it's all up to me. I gotta heal the world. I gotta take care of everyone and everything.

It isn't all up to me. It's up to each of us. together.

It's up to all of us to create change in the world.

It's up to all of us to forgive.

To heal.

To empathize.

To love.

We are all connected.

And like the butterfly in Africa, our every heartbeat creates a ripple in the world around us.

Ron's heartbeat has moved on to another place.

In his passing he has left behind the only thing any of us can leave when we are gone. Love.

Nameste.