Grief comes in waves when least expected.

Byline: FROM HEART TO HEART By Basheera Zorn For The Register-Guard

The death of a spiritual teacher is a unique phenomenon. Those who grieve pretty much go it alone. There are no cards for such a thing at Hallmark's. No one sends flowers. It's a hard thing to bring up in conversation, especially if you keep your spiritual path low-key.

How do you explain 29 years with a spiritual teacher to someone who has never had one?

For 29 years he's been my connection, my lifeline, my link to the divine.

`Is there Sufism without Ishaq?' I asked myself. And am I interested in it if there is? After 29 years I was no longer dependent on my teacher as a conduit to spiritual experience. But one does learn to love the vessel. He had become so precious to me.

Luckily, my closest friends are fellow Sufis. While most of their teachers are still living, they were able to imagine what such a loss might be like. They checked on me, and demonstrated their care in other ways. One in particular had lost her teacher a few years ago. I tried to remember how I'd supported her in her grief. In shock I found I couldn't even remember. I suspect that's not a good thing.

Whenever anyone dies suddenly, it's like a punch in the gut. If you're lucky, instead of doubling over in pain, you go numb. Actually, it's only a postponement. It means you won't get all your grieving over with in one ghastly punch. Instead the pain will come in dribs and drabs until it's had its way with you.

I became afraid of what I might find once the numbness had passed. Would there be a huge, gaping hole? One sleepless night I wandered the landscape of my mind and came upon it. A cleft in the rocks, a chasm, and at the bottom, a black viscous substance: `Ah! There it is.' I peered into it for only a matter of seconds before I gutlessly began backing away. `Nasty stuff. Don't want to go there.' Yet I felt somehow comforted just by knowing it was there. I'd begun to wonder if I was human.

Grief is a funny thing. It comes in waves when you least expect it. Sneaker waves. As the time stretches between them, I start to feel reassured. From the moment I saw him, lifeless, in the hospital, I began checking in. `Are you there?' Yes, he was. And he continues to be present - a part of my internal awareness - just as he always was. I'm mad at him sometimes for not showing up. I still expect to see him any minute. But it's OK for him to have moved on.

I like it that he's in uncharted territories, places I haven't been. Continuing to lead the way for me. Someday I'll follow. Maybe St. Peter will be at the gate. But I'll slip past him into the arms of my teacher. I do look forward to that hug!

Basheera Zorn is a Sufi teacher who has been practicing in Eugene for 27 years. She is a member of both Sufi Ruhaniat International and the Mevlevi Order of America. This column is coordinated by Two Rivers Interfaith Ministries, a network of more than 35 religious and spiritual traditions in the Eugene-Springfield area. For more information, call 344-5693 or visit www.interfaitheugene.org.