Diane Winder from Aotearoa New Zealand shares her tribute to John O’Donohue.
In a far-away land, perhaps as remote to the world as the valley in North Burren, we mourn the loss of a great soul. We were privileged to know and spend time with John O’Donohue.
From my first encounter nearly a decade ago atop the Shawangunk Ridge in the heart of Hudson Valley New York, to sharing time at his various talks, his generous heart, great mind, and unforgettable spirit have followed me along the winding pathways of life to find me in Aotearoa, New Zealand, the land of the long white cloud.
There was a special presence in this shining man who oozed a sense of enchantment and adventure. Listening with the heart, one could almost hear the whisper of an unrelenting inner voice magnetizing him to life’s next experience. John was filled with life and carried himself with a comfortable stride forged in a homeland of incredible beauty and ancient mystery. He was a poet and profound writer whose words were cultivated from the seat of the Earth and called from the soul of the universe.
Those many years ago, our Mohonk gathering brought leaders together with leading authors exploring the questions of synchronicity, authenticity and soul at work. Big questions for a time and a humanity yearning to find meaning in the midst of a world out of balance. But not too big for John. His early monographs on the four elements are like delicate appetizers to a great feast of his later works such as “Anam Cara”… (“Stone as the Tabernacle of Memory”, “Air: The Breath of God”, “Fire: At Home at the Hearth of Spirit”, “Water: The Tears of the Earth”).
John was to be the catalyst of a connection whose embers have never strayed far from the hearth of my heart. Driving through Massachusetts that late autumn, I arrived in upper state New York to a burst of colour as the trees sang our arrival. We were a small group, yet we were to come from all corners of the globe to walk the mysterious and deep interior spaces that John so fluidly honoured.
As I rushed into the hall with everyone already seated in the great circle, I took a chair at the end of a row. Just barely catching my breath, I felt the strong presence of another latecomer brush past me and take the only remaining seat to my right. It was John. His grin was contagious and we giggled at our already common connection of tardiness. We quietly shook hands and introduced each other. “My name is John” he said. “Oh, have you come far?” I smiled as the lilt in his speech gave away a murmur of Ireland. “Not too!” The grin widened and his eyes danced. The distance between souls is never far.
Our time on the edge of the sparkling-blue waters of Lake Mohonk was one of those life-changing experiences that only occasionally cross our ordinary paths. We wrestled with our intentions, danced with new friends, and put our shoulders against our inquiry and leadership that left us confused and frustrated. Yet John’s presence and wisdom was like a beacon in a black night.
In a small “chamber” group, I found John once again sitting beside me. Synchronicity indeed. The group was swimming through the deep waters inquiring the “evidence of possibility” and John encouraged me to speak from my heart. To my surprise my words were applauded. I told the group that my viewpoints simply arose between the blazing fire in the enormous hearth to my left and John O’Donohue on my right! Great laughter erupted as everyone knew the greater of the two blazes.
Perhaps it’s no surprise why I’ve taken John’s passing so personally. He seemed to touch everyone with a personal encounter that acknowledged a deep human connection in rhythm with a spiritual journey under a divine canopy. We seemed to have a natural affinity to one another, borne on the winds of a star-crossed time unknown to us. We spoke of John’s father as a stonecutter and farmer, and my Celtic ancestors as stonecutters and farmers in that very same region where we gathered in New York. As John O’Donohue was my year-younger soul-brother, my year-younger birth-brother, also John, passed away suddenly in a night in 1993 at the all-too-tender age of thirty-eight.
The many times I had seen John since that gathering, there was an instant recognition of anam cara. We would laugh and laugh like siblings sharing a good joke. His wisdom taught us all how to restore the true rhythms of our human-divine connection. When I was to marry, he was the first person we asked to celebrate our union. Since it was nearly two years in the future, John answered with his characteristic Irish twinkle and delightful exuberance, “I don’t know where I’ll be! I could be dead in two years!” How could any of us imagine that a great tree would fall so soon?
Like John and the Celts, the indigenous Maori of Aotearoa carry a tradition of the reverence for the soul in all things. Over these ten years, I felt John’s personal life was tapu (sacred), and not intended to be opened in the many encounters we found ourselves. I sensed he had a profound love of privacy and family that was not meant to be tread by his more public relationships. His sacred work will dance throughout all time as a taonga (treasure) to be opened again and again. With strength and love, John would weave a tapestry of words from this world to the next. So much so, that you felt you belonged to this greater landscape and would willingly travel the journey with him.
It is not without irony that I heard of John’s passing on St Patrick’s Day in New Zealand. This news has taken time to travel and seep into a mourning world. As I looked out upon the bush and wept, a little fantail came to dance in the branch above me. Barry Brailsford, our beloved New Zealand author and storyteller tells us that a bird of power in Maori lore, fantail (piwakawaka) brings two gifts. The first is laughter, for laughter opens the pathway to the deepest of the mysteries. Unlike any other, John’s own laughter created a lightness of heart and a profound opening to the mysteries of the magical worlds of friendship, beauty, spirituality, life, death and our own divinity. This little piwakawaka with its dancing fan tail is also a visitor when death gathers. It is the messenger and guardian of the spirit offering the gift of the dawning, the springtime of renewal. And as Barry tells us:
Fear is not the companion fantail brings to that moment.
Its offering is reassurance, a reminder
that we die a thousand deaths in one lifetime;
that we let go of the old again and again
to give birth to the new.
It speaks of beginnings that are without end,
of constant renewal, the promise of change and growth.
Nothing is lost to us forever. All is of the turning,
for we are joined as one within the circle.
Arohanui John, soul-brother and taonga - treasure of the world. May we meet again in the great circle.
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I was so touched by your soft words about John and your memories of a special man. We might have known that this good man would not be allowed to stay long with us ... what blessings he has left in his writings and in the memories of those fortunate enough to have met him and been with him ... and I thank you for sharing with us ... God bless you John.
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