[Oe List ...] Wayne

[LAURELCG at aol.com]

Thanks for sharing your dream, Margaret. The Order community has been the  
setting for so many of my dreams. Architecture and ritual are important 
parts of  spiritual community on this plane. So are story telling, laughter and 
the  tears many of us are shedding as we read on another's remembrances of  
Wayne.
 
I'm grateful to everyone who is sharing on this string. Loved Gordon's  
questions and Sarah's poem.
 
Wayne, Catherine Whitney and I served as the Emerging Generation staff with 
 Alice Baumbach as our able prior in 5th City in 1972, two 30-somethings 
and  two lively 20-something "kids". For the community Easter celebration 
Wayne and  Catherine wrote a pageant and coached the children to act it out in  
the Great Hall, with all the saints as witness. At the end, JWM gave it high 
 praise. As I recall, he said, "This is real art and served our community 
as art  is supposed to do." We and all our children glowed at that, as you 
can  imagine.
 
The song for the last supper scene has sustained me for 42 years. We  
buried my mother's ashes in Floydada, Texas, on July 1, 2012, her  100th birthay. 
It was a Sunday, and our family shared the Lord's Supper at  the graveside, 
during which I sang Wayne and Catherine's song, to the  tune of "Blowing in 
the Wind."
 
This is my body, I give unto you.
It's broken, that's the way that life is real.
And this is my blood that is spilled out for you.
It's given, that's the way that life is real.
 
Eat this bread and drink this cup,
And you shall have eternal life.
For brokenness is givenness, and givenness is good,
And it's a joy to know the truth about your life.
 
Wayne's whole life was a work of real art and served the world as art is  
supposed to do.
 
Love and blessings,
Jann McGuire
 
 
 
 
In a message dated 1/27/2014 12:38:17 P.M. Pacific Standard Time,  
AISEAYEW at NETINS.NET writes:

 
Dear Jo and  all, 
This news comes as a great,  painful, overwhelming shock.  I am so 
saddened. 
I’m sure that we have all had  those dreams that seem to last all night 
long, even though we awake, get up,  go to the bathroom (most of us are old 
enough to understand that part) and go  back to sleep only to be in the same 
dream again, with greater intensity and  detail.  Last night, it was about a 
death in our community.  The  event happened indoors and the body was moved 
outside, lovingly wrapped and  gently held by different ones of us.  There 
was a huge stage made of  blocks of foam all wrapped (actually beautifully 
sewn) in blue velvet.  A  block would be pushed out, a face would appear and a 
story would be  told.  Someone in the circle in front of the stage would put 
the block  back in place.  Someone in the circle would tell a story.  
Sometimes  as someone in the front circle would be telling a story many blocks 
would come  out and the response represented in the story would be acted out.  
This  only happened when the story needed a massive response of care or 
demand for  justice.  There were tears.  There was laughter.  It was  obviously 
“us” because of recognizable persons in the circle (some of whom I  haven’
t seen for years, some of whom are no longer with us on this plane) and  
because of the breadth of the geography represented in the  stories. 
It was a gentle night (in the  dream) and as morning approached, I woke up. 
 I made some notes.   There was a huge metal framework around the velvet 
squares which were actually  rectangular in shape, that gave the outdoor stage 
great stability.  As is  the case in dreams, there is no explanation for 
the fact that the entire  structure did not collapse when one or many squares 
came popping out.  I  did not want to rise.  I got up a couple of times, got 
a cup of coffee,  fed the cat, and then I went back to lie down because my 
Monday morning  “schedule” is to go through my last week’s email. 
It seems rather obvious that  a part of me wanted to avoid the news.  Wayne 
always took me back to my  roots, as did the combination of Wayne and Jo.  
Wayne and I participated  in a weekend retreat with Slicker in 66.  I showed 
up from Morningside  and Wayne had arrived from Dakota Wesleyan.  We joked 
about this  connection in places as far removed as Nigeria.  Wayne’s ability 
to  recover the story value in events always amazed me. 
It hasn’t reached zero here  yet today and last night the winds were in the 
30 to 55 mile per hour  range.  The house shook most of the night, so there 
was comfort in the  peacefulness of the dream world I entered.  Now, I am 
reminded of the  Buddhist traditional understanding that great winds appear 
with the passing of  great teachers. 
It seems a bit self-centered  to have bored you all with this weary tale, 
but it seemed important to me to  remind us of how intimately we are 
connected.   If you should have  any doubts, Jo, about the sincerity of those who 
have mentioned that they are  holding you and the boys in their thoughts and 
prayers, let them go.   Care for yourselves and know that you are being held 
in a powerful circle of  light and love and deep respect.  We recognize a 
great life, greatly  lived, with phenomenal impact on the whole of a huge 
personal particular  circle and on behalf of thousands of persons who will never 
even know Wayne’s  name that are spread across the planet.  They are richer 
for his  expenditure on their behalf and poorer for not having had the 
blessing of  those of us who have known you both. 
With love and care,  Margaret


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