It rained on Sunday; on Wednesday it was overcast and humid.
But on Monday and Tuesday the weather was perfect.
Kingscote basked in bright sunlight as we gathered at the Matara Centre to celebrate Chris Seeley’s amazingly creative life. We danced, drummed and sang. We shared stories; listened to music; read her journals, dived into her gloriously iconoclastic academic writing; gazed in wonder at her pictures and sketch books; enjoyed displays of her iconic outfits; talked about cosmology; cuddled teddy bears; looked at pictures from Chris’s childhood; wrote poetry; explored deep time; painted and drew; sat with old friends; made new connections; laughed, cried, and ate cake.
All this came about through the efforts of Chris’s family and friends, sparked by their love for this remarkable woman and gratitude for a life lived with such generosity and brilliance. Convening and preparing for the celebration was a source of great joy, though I sometimes found it a bit overwhelming and difficult to stay present during the event itself.
On Monday afternoon I needed to escape for a while so I went to the meditation room with Teddie and slept for an hour, until a friend came in and hugged us both awake as if we had been Sleeping Beauties. In that moment, I felt a surge of erotic energy returning to my body and I began to imagine the concrete possibility of life beyond the celebration for the first time since Chris died.
I realised that the energy I’d poured into making the event happen was a way of keeping her alive. Now it’s over, I have to let her go. It’s hard and the way ahead looks dark. But as our friend Fergal O’Connor says in the title track of his new album: light has a habit of breaking through.