The Epistles while at the death beds of Hank and Betty Lukas
A brief introduction to the Epistles.
Up on the sudden death of Thomas Patrick Coleman on Feb 23, 2011 the world we had become so accustomed to was thrown into an unwelcome and unwieldy chaos. Many if not most of the assumptions about certainty, permanence and how to spend ones days required new learning and direction. As with most things, a murmur lead to a whisper and bread crumbs appeared.
The Orphan Wisdom school a ragged learning house was revealed and the soil of our days turned and new seedlings emerged. From October 2014-May 2016 four week-long classes were attended. An unauthorized history of the dreams of dominant North American culture’s homelessness and death phobia was taught relentlessly by Stephen Jenkinson in a poetic rhythm which came alive in the spoken word.
These epistles were written to the eighty-plus people in the school, love letters from the front line as we returned from the incubator where this learning was occurring, back to the Anthropocene which we were seeking to understand.
A question upon leaving the school was, “How is your reentry?” Read more…
It has now been a bit more than nine weeks since I looked into my mother's terrified eyes and sought to set into motion a better death than that which was present in that moment. Read more...
What follows is a rendering of events, my reactions and sorrowing, as I seek to attend to the dying days of my parents. Read more...
It was little more than two weeks ago since I poured out the sorrows which have underwritten the dying times of my parents. Read more…
It is early morning in Berkeley. Wendy and I had a brisk morning walk and await our porridge. Walks are good for tears. Read more…
With mercy, a quick one here, friends, as for me much work abounds. Read more…
So here again I sit sorrowing with you at the deathbed of one of my parents. Henry Valentine Lukas lies before me, having lost 40 pounds since January. Read more...
As your faithful scribe of the dying times of my mother and father, I am sending you another missive.
It has been a year since I reported on my father’s dying time. Through 2017 his withering was like watching paint dry. Read more…