Komobu & Gandhi.

Via on Jul 17, 2012

“Does he look like Gandhi?” I asked.

It took her a moment to reply. She gave me a quizzical look, as if her brain were registering Gandhi and Komobu next to each other in her brain.

“Yes,” she said.

Komo just told me Komobu is really, really, skinny.

“He’s lost a lot of weight. Don’t be shocked,” she said, “He’s skin and bones.”

Suddenly I heard the Paul Simon song ringing around in my head. “Hearts and Bones.” You know that one? A kind of funny melody to be going off internally with this conversation happening externally.

She was warning me. A gentle premonition so I wouldn’t be too stunned. Her reassurance was sweet, but I was sure that his condition couldn’t be that bad. Although, I didn’t know to what extent his pain and suffering was in.

The nurse was in his room changing his sheets.

“Should I wait to say ‘hi?'” I asked Komo.

“Yeah, wait until she leaves,” my auntie replied.

My uncle is one of my favorite people in the world. He’s one of the first people to teach me what it really means to be an artist. Having him by my side, creating works of art has helped me widen my own understanding and capability to communicate my work from a more refined and evolved vantage point. We’d stay up deep into the darkness of the night silently making tangible works of art, contemplating how can we best capture God into form. We were both feeding one another, we both had something different to offer to one another and luckily for us both, we nourished our beings. The way he teaches is subtle, very gentle and truthful. He showed me how to make everything I do, better.

“I want to teach you everything I know,” he’d say.

“Okay, let’s go. Show me, teach me,” I’d reply.

I love the way he smiles.

From that point on it was on. Our relationship then touched a new territory—a depth we had never accessed before. Now we were engaging in our relationship from a standpoint of uncle/niece/teacher/student/discipleship/friend and artists, both on the trajectory to master their craft. The next few months of our relationship was full of tenderness, love, and a mutual growing respect. It was as if our souls were both so delighted and pleased to have found one another and to have finally been granted the space to just, be there with each other.

Before I walked into the room I heard a noise I’d never heard before. I realized later it was an oxygen tank. His heart is only 25 percent functioning on it’s own, so he needs a tank to help with his breathing for his blood circulation.

I walk in and see an empty hospital bed. It looks likes a room from the hospital has been implanted here in this beautiful white stone and granite Spanish/Mediterranean home in the middle of the mountains. He told me later that the doctors had sent him home to die. They thought it’d be a better way to go. That’s why there was so much hospital equipment. They wanted him to be in the comfort of his own home.

He’s sitting in a chair against a wall to the left of the door. Our eyes meet and I fall to my knees. I can’t even speak. We’re hugging and tears begin to slowly stream down my face. More from the moment’s atmosphere of beauty and awe than from the emotion of sadness itself. My head is resting on his shoulder of what feels like dull yet sharp stone—it’s his clavicle bone without any muscle or meat around it. I can’t believe he’s in this condition…we’re feeling one another’s arms and spines as if so thankful for not just each other—but even just for our own selves, that we are alive and being able to experience this moment with each other. There is a whole world of subtly that can be felt and read within the sense of touch.

We started talking. I don’t really remember about what, but it seemed like the thing to do. I just wanted to hold him, to touch him, to tell him that I loved him.

He spoke first: “I almost died a few weeks ago. But I’m still alive. Make good use of your time in life. Take advantage of every moment.”

He’s always teaching me. Even when we’re not making art. All I could do was nod. My vocal chords were still on mute.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t know…,” I attempted to say.

“I thought by the time you were back from Bali I’d be better. You made it just in time.” His words were exasperated. He was tired.

We sit there in silence for a while and he moves to his bead. It’s hard for him to sit upright because his body has no strength or muscle to hold him up.

“Can you give some energy to me?” he asked in such a sweet and innocent manner.

My heart dropped. Of course, I said internally. Before I had left the States for Mexico and Indonesia last year, we started to do healing treatments together. It was his first time to experience craniosacral therapy. He wanted more. Absolutely, I said. Anything I can do for this amazing man. I’ll do everything possible that I know how to do to help him heal and relinquish his pain.

Komo walks in and we all start talking.

“He looks like Gandhi, doesn’t he?” she says.

I look into his eyes and smile.

“Yeah, I always thought Gandhi was so handsome,” I reply.

Komobu smiles. I love seeing his eyes light up when he smiles. He put my hands on his chest and we stayed like that for hours. Well, for what seemed like hours anyway. There are only a very few amount of people on this earth where we can just be there with each other, in silence. What intimacy. Wow, this is the first time we touched this space together. This realm is so profound to share and experience with an other.

Komobu is a physical reminder that yes, time here on this planet and in this body has a tick-tick-tocking expiration date on it. The Western framework of living has such a morbid connotation on death, but is not death just as natural as life? What a beautiful thing. Only when you realize yes, you too will die, do you become truly and deeply alive. Your time on Earth will soon come to an end.

It is your birthright to look, to find out and to explore what it really means to be a human being walking on this planet. What it is that you’re here to do. Figure out what you love and do it for the rest of your life. Make time and space for the people you love. Forgive quickly, let go, move on and love more. Om


Editor: Brianna Bemel

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About Chloe Park

Chloe Park is an Artist, Spiritual Teacher, Yoga and Meditation Instructor, Holistic Healing Practitioner, Life Coach, Women's Empowerment Leader, Social Change Activist and Ethnobotanist. A traveling Healer and Teacher, she roams the Earth to share her message: unconditional love, self-healing and awakening. She uses the medium of writing, holistic healing, medicinal plants, yoga and meditation to help all those along the Path to attain harmony with mind, body and spirit. She is devoted to facilitating the space for Healing, Love and Truth and is passionate about bringing ancient practices and traditions into the modern times we live. Her intention with her writing is to offer Q&A for all those who are engaged in the dialogue. Chloe also writes for MindBodyGreen, Healthline, WorldLifestyle, and Yahoo Shine!. To stay connected with her current projects, retreats, teachings and traveling schedule, find her on Facebook: www.facebook.com/chloeparkhealing or visit her website: www.chloeparkhealing.com. Spiritual counseling and life coaching sessions with Chloe are available via Skype. May we all wake up together. ॐ


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6 Responses to “Komobu & Gandhi.”

  1. Mamaste says:

    Just intro'd on FB to: Yoga, Health & Wellness, WOW, Family & I'm Not Spiritual.

  2. Chris Fici Chris Fici says:

    Really beautiful Chloe thank you for sharing.

  3. realtortracy says:

    Oh Chloe!
    The tears are still streaming down my face, not from sadness, though I am sad for your loss, but from catharsis and truth and love. What a beautiful tribute your wrote for your beloved uncle and what an amazing piece of his immortality you have become!
    Much love to you!

  4. CarolynGilligan says:

    Chloe, this is so beautiful. I am definitely posting this part on my fridge, "Forgive quickly, let go, move on and love more." Thanks for sharing!

  5. chloe says:

    Om Shanti beautiful friends.

  6. […] have many miles to walk before I reach the commitment and selflessness Gandhi exhibits. However, my ears could not help but to listen in while Ba spoke to her […]

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