I had intended to write about something else this month, but my most beloved spiritual teacher just passed, and I can’t seem to think about much else. By the time this is published, twelve whole days will have passed since he did, so it seems as good a subject as any. 

I say my most beloved spiritual teacher, but really he was half of a whole, a partner with his beloved wife Jill. In all honesty, it is really Jill who has had the greatest impact on my life, and with whom I have had the most contact. But, you really can’t extract one from the other.

I was 22 or 23 when I met Hank. It was his anthropology class I was enrolled in when we broke for spring break in 2001, and my personal sovereignty met its unfortunate fate. He had just lectured on Soul Retrieval, and the causes of illness in indigenous beliefs. I had been in psychotherapy at the time, in an attempt to manage my good friend, Morbid Depression. His talk about the effects of soul loss and the feelings of malaise associated with it, coupled with the trauma I had just experienced, propelled me to seek more aggressive—and unorthodox—methods of treatment. I pulled him aside after class one day, and presented him with my aunt’s jade necklace. I asked if Jill would be willing to accept this gift in exchange for a soul retrieval session. I could see that he felt the gravity of my situation, and he gently explained to me that money is the method of exchange in this culture, and as soon as I was ready, he would get me in touch with his wife for a session. I was living hand to mouth, and uncertain as to where I would find the cash for such an expense. But, it was a very valuable lesson about priorities, and one that would prove its value again and again throughout my life. I decided that there was nothing more important than my healing, and I made the appointment. Sure enough, the money came, and in my memory, I can’t remember where it came from, or what was sacrificed. All I am left with is the life changing impact of that decision.

I went to go see Jill a couple of times before an opportunity became available to attend a training workshop with both Hank and Jill at Esalen. Again, my heart felt the call. But, the course was $850 dollars!  At this point in my life, that seems like a small price to pay for a whole week with those two in the magical land of that retreat space, but at the time, it was completely overwhelming. I knew with absolute certainty that I must attend, but how would I make it happen?! 

Another opportunity for magic. 

I swallowed my pride, and asked my grandfather. I told him all that had happened this year, and what this course was about. My grandfather was the one who, after all, had introduced me to all this woo woo stuff by way of Carlos Castaneda, Seven Arrows, The Lakota Sun Dance, and so much more. By asking for his help with this, we got to connect on a personal level that we had not previously had. Our relationship came into adulthood, and we shared a bond from that moment that was unique to us. We related about subjects that the others in our family didn’t, and my life was changed. I was now on a different path from the one on which I started the year.

Attending that workshop gave me the gift of direct revelation, and granted me the power to heal myself. It was a long road ahead, and it would still be many more years before I realized the full impact of what was received during that week, but the foundation had been laid—the knowledge was remembered. God, for whatever that is, was no longer outside of myself. I no longer needed an interpreter to hear The Word. The source of Divinity was within me, and I could trust the feelings and messages I received—and continue to receive—without external aid. 

The realization had come recently for how much time had passed since we were in deeper connection with each other, and my heart longed to review what I had learned in my initiation all those many years ago. Of course, I had also just had a baby, and knew I wouldn’t be traveling on my own for some immersion retreat any time soon. But, I also knew that I would need to make the space quickly, if I wanted to pick up any last bundles before Hank dropped his robes.

Then, Covid.

All of the sudden, a perfect opportunity presented itself! Out of this destruction came some gold. A year long apprenticeship program had been created for us students to learn from our teacher online, in the comfort and safety of our own homes. I didn’t have to go anywhere, and I would be able to learn so much more than I ever could have from a week away at a retreat center. I was able to participate in this global gathering of souls weekly for a whole year! We all contributed our energy to create the power of these final teachings. And, I was able to “return home” one last time.

Hank has such a timeless quality to him; he retained so much of his youthful spirit throughout these years. It was hard to fathom that he would ever pass. He was making plans for how we would proceed once our year had come to fruition, and I thought that we would have so many more opportunities to learn and grow together.

Then, the message came. He would not be able to attend class.

The next message came. He was in hospital.

Then, the diagnosis.

I had just had a conversation over dinner with my brother-in-law about the three terminal illnesses he is researching with his business, and Hank’s diagnosis was one of those. I knew then the inevitable. I braced myself for the news. Yet still, I couldn’t actually conceive of the world where Hank wasn’t in it. I had no idea how fast The Gathering would come. But, come it did. 

And there we were, left alone, to our own devices.

So much of the grief that has overtaken me in these days that have followed is not necessarily for him, and the life that he will no longer be living, but for those who are left to carry on without him. I grieve for all that Jill is now left with. I grieve for the daughters that must live on without their father. I grieve for the lessons that have gone un-taught. I grieve for all the moments I decided to wait.

I am not ready to let him go! 

I am not ready to be teacherless! 

I still have so much still to learn!

I don’t want to be on my own, and do this without you!

Yet, I must. Let him go, I must. Move on, I must. I must go on without The Teacher. WE all must do this so that his soul—and ours—can be free.

The feeling—that nagging feeling—that is left in his wake, is a calling to something more. Since his passing, I have felt something stir in my heart. I want to remain the student, so that I don’t have to move outward. I want to remain behind the desk for a bit longer, so that I don’t have to put to practice our lessons in the real world. I want to stay comfy in my nest, despite the call to fly.

Who will be the teacher now? 

Perhaps it is I