Altars

On the seventh day after Gail's death, we moved what was left of her altar to the one table not yet carted away by the Salvation Army: a nine-inch Guan Yin, white ceramic, with a piece missing from her shoulder; a figure of Master Hua in seated meditation, glaze revealing each feature of his long, wise face; a framed picture of Swami Chinmayananda; an aqua glass vase offering bearded iris, two rose buds, narcissus, and a constellation of muscari. Deep purple, yellow, pale pink, the first of the spring harvest.

My mother, aunt, and I pulled couch cushions to the floor, and settled into meditation. My mother began to chant the first Great Memorial Service. Every seven days for seven weeks, each in our own way, we would return to the ceremony. We pray that in the realm of life and death, this one person, Gail, like the precious Dragon Jewel, will shine as the emerald sea, clear and complete, as clear as the blue sky,...

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At home, I prepare my own altar for the second-seventh day. I drape Gail's blue scarf on the breakfast bar, letting it cascade over the edge. I set the buddha in the center; he is small, perhaps an inch and a half high, sent to me by my mother. To his right stands Guan Yin, bodhisattva of compassion, a gift of my aunt Heng Ch'ih. And on his left Gail's own Ganesh, red and yellow, palms offering. A pottery vase my grandfather scupted, brown and blue, holds daffodils. I choose a photograph taken thirty-four years ago of Gail and my mother, each with a cheek pressed to my infant face and lean it against the vase. I tuck a close-up, recent, of Gail's face into a clay frame. She smiles out at me, looking vibrant, playful and a little smug.

I remove a stick of incense, light it, and stand it in a raku pot. My own service is unkempt, bits and pieces gleaned along the way and offered without reservation. A sampler of Japanese and Sanskrit wrapped up with the service my mother had offered on the first seventh day. I float on the words only guessing at the depths they hold, trusting that showing up is service enough. ...like the precious Dragon Jewel, will shine as the emerald sea, clear and complete, as clear as the blue sky, in the Dharma everywhere, and serve as a guide for the world in ascending the path to enlightenment.