How to Help Robin
You can donate to Robin's Relief fund via paypal. All of the donations are secure and go directly into Chase bank, in an account set up specifically for her recovery.
Hi Friends and Strangers Who Are Becoming Friends,
This is the place to leave your wishes, prayers and hopes for Robin. Express yourself. Freely. This is a place of mutual give and take. Not just a place to give, for we, all of us who have been touched by Robin's story, take great courage from her journey, and take great love and support from each other. Feel free to express what you want for Robin, but also what she's done for you. We, her family, believe in the days to come she'll be greatly inspired by how she's already, unwittingly, touched so many lives.
In the words of Angi, Robin's soul sister:
After I got the call from the ICU letting me know that Robin was writhing in pain after amputation, I just wanted to wretch. Love, light, spiritual purpose and all that went flying right out the window in the awareness of her suffering. Word from her daughter was that she was screaming. Hearing this, vomit wouldn't be enough for me. Tears wouldn't be enough. Rage would not touch the surface of this hurt. Tears leaking from my eyes, I was at a loss to even express my torment thinking of her pain. And just at that moment, a friend of mine came online and made me laugh. Hard. I laughed til I cried. And then I cried til I laughed. The patrons at the coffee shop (where I go to write) must have feared for their lives. Im certain I caught one or two checking their personal belongings, afraid a nut job was loose in their midst.
But in that hysteria, I thought "Here we have the answer." The sadness, the ache, the grief in the midst of suffering? It's a call to action. But it's not a place to dwell. Agony? Helplessness? They have their place, but it's not the zip code we want to settle in. It's the launching pad for remembering who we are. It's the catalyst for presence, for compassion, for rising to heights equal of our spiritual roots, to, as Rilke said, "rise up rooted, like trees."
Rising up rooted, that's the work of spiritual mastery, and that kind of mastery doesn't come from fighting the good fight. It doesn't come from being strong, from perservering, from beating back adversity. Our culture would lead us to believe otherwise, but true mastery, like true strength, comes from surrender. When we surrender in the midst of suffering, we usher in the knowledge that we are not our pain. We may be the objects of it, but we are not its subjects. We're bigger than that. And when we surrender to laughter, the whole world breaks loose and reconfigures itself around us. We, however briefly, come into contact with the remembrance of our sacred selves, and the memory that this life is a brief and bedazzling game that our souls have chosen to play.
Play. We're all playing. Like Shakespeare said "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." Indeed. Lest we forget this blessed play, there is pain and there is pleasure to kindle us awake. To spark our deepest memories of a time when we had no bodies, and ached for them for the sheer luxury of feeling, of connecting, of moving objects from the unseen into the seen, for the sheer joy of creating.
Robin is creating. Right there on her hospital bed, she is wielding creative power that is blinding in its brilliance. See her there, as a suffering body missing its parts, and you miss the big picture. She is creating connection, and calling forth the best of us. She's bringing strangers together, kindling hearts awake, conjuring compassion, bringing us all alive in our gratitude and our grace. In the presence of her story, we abandon our loneliness and stand together, awakened by our shared humanity. Single-handedly, with or without fingers, she is stitching us all into a tapestry of love. And I, for one, am grateful. I have never felt more alive or more appreciative of my fellow man. You, pouring out all your hopes and wishes and prayers and soulfulness. You, gutting open your hearts and spilling out your blessings. You. Rising up rooted, like trees, to provide shade in this searing light.
Look at the spectacle her suffering has birthed. It dazzles me. My gratitude bubbles up like champagne. I drink a toast to the great stage of her life, and the play she is writing upon it. And you, all the players, I toast you. And to the remembrance of who we really are.
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