I received word yesterday that my spiritual friend and mentor, Margret McCleary, passed from this life on 29 January.
In April last year I wrote a post to this blog about the passing of my great friend Alix Taylor. Alix and Margret were part of a group of spiritual friends who gathered frequently. Now that both have passed I feel that I have entered unfamiliar ground, impoverished by losing them.
In 1991 I was working for myself developing software, barely scraping by but loving the freedom from company politics. Each Monday noon I fetched take-out Chinese food and rendezvous-ed with my great friend, Kathleen Jacoby, while she held the fort at Minerva Books on Alma Street in Palo Alto, California. Minerva was an oasis of spiritual calm and repose in the sometimes turbulent waters of Silicon Valley, and I loved spending time in the store with her and with Minerva's owner, Robert Clark.
Next to the fireplace were two chairs: one a rocker, the other a blue armchair. After lunch I hung around sitting in the blue chair. A distinguished older lady walked in and entered an animated conversation with Kathleen. She sat down in the rocker and struck up a non-stop, ninety minute conversation with me. She told me of her spiritual work (she was a trance channel) and of her miraculous physical healing. We traded business cards. The light blue card had black lettering and a small dove. It bore the name 'Margret McCleary'.
Margret (that's not a typo...) and I rapidly became fast friends. I spent hours in her small apartment in the Lytton Gardens retirement community in Palo Alto. I chiefly recall her small desk where she did her readings, and a leather armchair and sofa where we sat and talked. On the wall was Native American art and a painting that symbolized the spiritual group she founded. As the years went on we spent more time in talk and in meditation. She returned the favor and visited me, first in my apartment and later in my condo. I'd cook, we'd talk, and we'd sit in meditation. She introduced me to a favorite symbol: the green energy. She saw it as part of the growth of things: plants, people. Years later I did a study of the spiritual meaning of 'green'. Hildegarde of Bingen wrote about 'the greening': the upwelling of the spirit of God through things, bringing them life and vigor. Margret spoke in much the same way.
It wasn't just serious stuff, though. After an early New Year's Eve dinner in downtown Palo Alto, Margret and I walked back to her apartment. We ran into one of her good friends: a neighbor down the hall. She was an ageless black woman with flawless skin and vital energy. (I later discovered she was past seventy.) This neighbor was also two-and-a-half sheets to the wind - and it was barely eight o'clock. She chatted with Margret and then looked me over.
"You're not half bad," she said to me. She gave me a little pat on the crotch. "We don't make love with that. No... That's for making babies and spreading disease. We make love with the toes."
She staggered on down the hall. Margret unlocked her apartment door and we barely made it inside before we dissolved in a gale of laughter. Margret kept trying to shush me - the walls were paper-thin and she thought her other neighbors would hear. Ever after Margret would escort me down to the door, especially if I had on sandals.
John came into my life in 1995. Margret whole-heartedly approved. Whenever John was visiting me we three would walk to a restaurant to hang out a while. After dinner we came back and talked for hours. I moved to Iowa in 1997 but Margret and I stayed close on my trips back to California each month.
Over the years she began to falter. By 2000 she and I spent time in front of a video camera. I wanted to capture some of her wisdom about life. She entrusted me with volumes of her writings. We probed the idea of creating a book based on her work with her spiritual groups. In the end, though, we stayed simple. We came back to working together on the matters of our daily lives and loves. Along the way she entrusted me with a gift: a small piece of moldavite that she thought I'd like. It embodied the green energy she always talked about.
In 2002 her daughters moved her to be closer to them in Washington State. By that time I'd lost my job at my startup after the dot-com crash, and I'd not yet started my current job in California. Even so, I resolved to return to Palo Alto to help Margret pack for the move. She was ill and I was terribly worried about her, but we did our best together on that trip. As she left I remarked to Robert Clark that this was an ending. I never saw her again physically.
I was in California the last weekend in January on business. I walked one of my old neighborhoods. Suddenly I couldn't stop thinking about Margret. I walked past the apartment where she and I shared so many meals and so much time talking. Later that day I pulled the moldavite from my briefcase where I always keep it wrapped in a small leather pouch. That day and the next I spent time in meditation with Margret and that small token. Then I did not know that she would pass from this life not more than five hours after that last meditation with her.
She asked me many years ago what I might want from her. I told her I wanted a double portion of her spirit. She smiled and grabbed my hand. Perhaps that will yet come to pass.
