Subentu

In the whisper of the wind

‘Excuse me, can you tell me where the Chiesa della Beata Vergine della Consolata is?’ The elderly woman looked over to the car and said, ‘oh, it’s just down that road there.’ But there’s a more beautiful, more important, church if you go up that way.’ ‘Thank you but we’re attending a funeral.’

We found the tiny Church of the Blessed Virgin of Consolation in a sweet little square further down the road. People were already gathering around the entrance. So many familiar faces.

Subentu, Sardinian for "the wind" in the local dialect, left his body and this earthly world a few days ago. He was diagnosed in February with cancer.

Our neighbour and dear friend, lived just over the hill from us. We’ve known him for years. We’d often meet him on the roadside, gathering wood for his fire, or at the beach, leaning against a piece of driftwood enjoying the sun on his face, or at the garden shop, gathering seedlings for his garden.

He was a gardener. Had worked as a gardener for decades and knew everything about gardening. He kept a beautiful garden himself and shared cuttings and plants and gardening advice generously with friends and neighbours. 40 years ago he’d built his house and nurtured a delightful garden, all tucked quietly away on a remote hillside reached by a long and winding, fairytale like, wooded road. Completely off-grid, he collected water from his well and firewood from the woods around the house. Many Sundays, there were tea and homemade vegan cakes and quiet talks and shared laughter about life and plants and mystical things by the fireside with him and his wonderful wife. As the dusk encroached, the candles would come out along with the little bottles of homemade liquors - wild berry, fennel, herbs.

He was a yoga master. He had dedicated over 40 years to his practice, travelled frequently to India, and taught across the northwest of Sardinia. He was a wonderful teacher, calm and patient, deeply attentive, deeply caring. He had a special light and a pure energy. A soft spoken man, a son of the northwest with that wry Sardinian humour that often made his eyes crinkle in quiet amusement.

His death was sudden and unexpected. The injustice of it hard to accept. Still young, in his early 60s. A beautiful, gentle and kind, soul who didn’t smoke, or drink, or do drugs, who’d been vegetarian for decades, lived in the countryside off-grid, physically active, immersed in his yoga practice, deeply spiritual, and profoundly connected with nature.

The hearse arrived and the wooden coffin was wheeled into the church followed by his wife and family members. The gathered mourners fell in behind them. The little church filled quickly and most of those gathered had to wait outside, hugging and talking quietly amongst themselves. They moved in and out of the entrance to the church to catch bits of the service.

As the service ended, the pallbearers took their places behind the coffin and the aisles filled. One after the other, the mourners put their hand on the coffin in a final farewell and then turned to his wife, dressed in a long flowing blue robe. Normally so vibrant and joyous, a lover of life and laughter, the months of Subentu’s illness had been devastating for her. She stood tall, with dignity, but fragile. Her loss palpable, heartbreaking. She embraced everyone with a gentle smile, exchanged some quiet words, shed silent tears.

Outside there were quiet tears and long hugs. Family, friends, neighbours, yoga students - a whole community shattered. The women feeling the pain and loss of this beautiful soul, heartbroken for the wife, let the tears fall. The men stood tall, faces tight with grief. Applause erupted as the coffin moved to the hearse and shouts of ‘travel well, Subentu’ waved his departure.

He was a follower of the ancient, sacred Tzolk’in almanac and an ancient Mayan blessing honouring the four directions, the wind, and the hummingbird seems fitting. Ancient Mayans believed that the deceased person's spirit will use the wind and the wings of a hummingbird to visit living relatives, bringing them comfort, peace, and reassurance that they are safe in the afterlife.

To the Heart of the Sky, to the Heart of the Earth:

Look with favour upon this traveler who has stepped beyond the circles of this world.

To the East and the Dawn:

Light his path into the morning sun, clear, brilliant, and full of peace.

To the West and the Setting Sun:

Honour the completion of his earthly walk. Receive the beauty of his life, which is now woven forever into our memory.

To the North and the Ancestors:

Welcome him home into the quiet, deep sanctuary of the old wise ones, where there is no more weariness.

To the South and the White Wind:

Let the wind catch his final breath and carry it gently across the earth. Transform our deep grief into a soft breeze, blowing away our sorrow and leaving only peace.

To the Ts’unu’um, the Sacred Messenger:

Let the hummingbird carry our thoughts upward to him, and bring his essence back down to us. Whenever the wind whispers through the leaves, let us hear his love. Whenever a tiny wing flutters near our ear, let us catch the silent whisper of his peace.

May his journey be swift, may the wind hold him close, and may the hummingbird always keep our souls connected.

Maltyox (Thank you).

RIP dearest Subentu, Claudio, Caio. Thank you for all the love. You will be so missed and we’ll listen for you in the whispers of the wind.

Love is the way the world remembers itself.

Thanks so much for joining me, for reading.

Take care of you!

F ox

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Unless external credit given, all images copyright Fiona Pape.