A MARIGOLD, I PRAY TO BE.

“What you say about the dead make sure you say about the living”, the man at the podium spoke loud and clear. “You know, you say love is love, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they are all just words”, he continued. Nesim looked around, the whole place had their heads bowed, tears streaming down their face, he did not know any of them, yet his heart was being torn from his chest. The man continued “Life does not wait for the dead to arrive, and you my friends should be no different, tomorrow is a new day and there are no yesterdays, just some other day, a long-time ago we shared in this journey of life”.

As Nesim listened he thought of Beckha, he loved the way she wrote, he loved the way she smiled, he loved the way the stars felt as she laid beside him. She was as strong as they come, yet a heart so deep and fragile that the world’s pain was felt through her. She was an enigma through and through, she just had a way of driving you crazy, delighting you with heart and taking you to depth of yourself, that if you held your breath long enough the divine became omnipresent in your being. As a mater of fact, she wanted you to love her, yet she wanted you to love yourself more, she wanted you to look in, look into the eyes of love, into yourself and love yourself and everyone and everything else. Nesim wondered if any of these people knew what he knew, that Beckha felt it all. If you did not love yourself, she felt your pain, your thoughts, your fears and your joys, she felt all of it. It was why Beckha lived out in the middle of mountains, beside her creek with her garden always in full bloom. He remembered, she needed the divine mother earth and it's nature to survive, she felt truth and in truth, her heart could not bear it all. Nesim looked around he wondered how many people knew her really? Would he remember their names as they introduce themselves? Beckha spoke of many people how she loved them. He wondered if they loved her as much. Nesim thought, he loved her, she was everything to him.

Nesim looked around, there had to be a hundred people, maybe more. He knew Beckha would have been so uncomfortable in the crowd. Whilst she was confident and open, she felt too much, and crowds overwhelmed her. She preferred nature, flowing and gentle or rugged and challenging, it did not matter, she would climb those rocks like they were equipment in a playground, she would hang upside down, lay on the ground, laughing and talking to the spirits as she meandered or hiked along depending which plant, tree or animal she spoke to. She would take photos, and birds would stop and chatter to her and she would laugh and talk back telling them how much she loved them and was ever grateful for them sharing their time with her. Nesim was in awe of her, he wanted to wrap her heart up and hold it for eternity. He wanted to dance with her under the moonlight again, he wanted to sit by the ocean, he wanted to kiss her all over and make love to her by the fire. Nesim wanted to be the one she stayed for. He sobbed knowing that she could have never stayed, he knew that she told him. Beckha knew this day would come and Nesim knew that even though her body perished, her spirit was here somewhere, he knew all she said was true.

Nesim listened as the man at the podium continued reading Beckha’s words to the world. “Beckha wanted to leave us with a poem she wrote about marigolds many years ago” he noted, "It is titled A Marigold, I pray to be”. Nesim gripped a copy of the same piece of writing in his hands, he looked around everyone seemed to have one. The man read:

I did not know much about a marigold flower, so I spoke its name.

I then prayed for spiritual power; to show me my shame.

It spoke of colour and happiness, it spoke of dreams.

It spoke of life, and all was not what it seems.

It spoke of the hurt and it spoke of pain.

If you pretend you don’t have any, you only get a gain.

It was the shadows of the eyes that could not see.

That everything is reframed when I look in the eyes of thee.

Even Midas in all his touch with gold,

Yes, even he, was grieved by a Marigold.

I became a marigold, so gentle, and so sure.

The light of the sun, simply knowing I am pure.

Some see jealousy, some see grief and despair.

Some foresee creativity, passion and energetic flair.

Only some knowing they are the flower of the dead .

These epic fiery hues of oranges, yellows and red.

If only you knew they were adorned by Mother Mary.

Or sometimes god’s favourite little forest fairy.

The day Angel Gabriel made his presence known .

The birth of Mary’s son in her heart was shown.

As this flower can represent endless love .

As a marigold, is given from divine above.

Is it above or is it below .

Or is this existence purely for show.

My heart went wondering through fields of sacred .

As I was stripped bare, condemned and left naked.

I was then picked, adorned and made into tea.

And scattered around the earth to set the spirits free .

As a marigold, I was loved with the heart .

The Beloved who had no end or no start.

I prayed honestly and true and deep.

I prayed please beloved, just take me in my sleep.

A woman to the right let out a howl of grief, Nesim could hear her deep sobs as many others around joined her. They sounded like the howling of wolves, each howl beckoning the spirit’s home. He knew wolves represented true freedom, Beckha told him. She loved anything that contained sovereignty, choice and free will, after all it was Elohim that gave her the trinity, one in essence yet three in person. She was his and she was devout to his love. Beckha also loved Nesim yet he knew love also crushed her here, it was the only thing that brought her to her knees. Beckha collected enough pain and produced enough love that Elohim called her home, Nesim knew this Beckha showed him. The man at the podium spoke again between the sobs of those around. “Beckha left us with these last words” he continued.

“I loved you, no matter what you thought, I loved you” he choked on the next line. “I love you; I love you and I love you and just like Hoʻoponopono” the man continued, “I am sorry, please forgive me, I thank you and I love you” he paused. “Do not spend another day in mourning, for those I lived, I loved, for those days and nights I lived I felt them all and for fuck’s sake if you cannot own your shit, why the fuck are you here, I hated that shit, however I still love you”, the man at the podium whispered something about verbatim. Nesim laughed he remembered Beckha’s feeling of humour and sometimes what she called the anger with sadness. She often used humour as sanctification, even the cosmic joke to bring forth truth, she would also over-share, have no filter and if you hid from your shadow, she would be the seraph itself shaking life to the core to bring forth your denial. Nesim knew all of her, like Elohim, he loved all of her. Nesim stood feeling like he needed to be alone, he almost felt her beckoning. He walked gently and placed his Marigold flower on the altar with her photo. Nesim picked up her photo and whispered softly. “Thank you and I love you, you are home now sweetheart, it is finished”.