Love itself has taken away
the last support of earth

My feet are resting
on etheric blue

There is no longer any horizon
to bar the infinite distances
of Love

Nor any weight to hold my flight.

And so rise – and still rise
in the starry night
to worlds unknown.

Good Morning Everyone. Welcome.

Thank you all for being here today to celebrate the life of my mother, Audra Skuodas. On behalf of my father… who was the most important person in her life… On behalf of my sister, Cadence, her husband Dan, and her daughters Zaviana and Satya… On behalf of myself, my wife Martha, and our daughter Sylvia… Thank you for being here today.

Thank you for being here over the past year as we have struggled, alongside Audra, with the aftermath of her stroke. Thank you for your friendship with Audra and our family over many years. We are so grateful to all of you for being here with us today. From the bottom of our hearts, welcome.

Yesterday, as a family, we interred my mother’s remains at Westwood Cemetery here in Oberlin. For all of us, it was a very sad moment. To see her physical remains forever surrendered to the earth. Like many of you, I mourn her loss every day. And in some ways, it is not even real to me yet. Although we have interred her remains, I still haven’t really said goodbye, and I/m not sure that I ever really will.

I miss her. And I will keep missing her for the rest of my life. No doubt, many of you feel the same. We are so very sad that her spirit has left her body. That she is no longer with us in all her vibrant… as she would say… vibrational presence.

At the same time, I am tremendously grateful for who my mother, Audra, was while she was with us in body. And I am deeply, deeply grateful for who she still is in spirit.

Today is a celebration of that spirit. A celebration of her life. A celebration of the sprit of Audra. A celebration of the spirit that animated her body during her life…

And a celebration of the spirit of Audra that remains with us. The spirit of Audra that remains with us through the traces that she has left in our memories. The spirit of Audra that remains with us through the imprint that she has left in our ways of thinking about the world and interacting with one another. The spirit of Audra that continues to speak to us through the physical artifacts whose creation was so much a focus of her life. And the spirit of Audra that continues to expand as we share our love for her with one another. Through the stories of her that we will tell today. And through the ways that we continue to share her spirit with others in the future.

Over the course of the next hour or so, we will start our celebration with remembrances of Audra and tributes to Audra from some of her dearest friends. And we will continue the celebration at my parents’ studios, just across Tappan Square, at 35 E College Street.

For my part, I would like to bring her spirit among us through two artifacts that she left behind which particularly speak to me about how she made her way through the world.

The first artifact is a book that she made of her own life in 2009, entitled, Self-Portrait of a Displaced, Amnesiac Alien.

At this moment in our country, when aliens among us are being portrayed as such harsh and violent terms, I so appreciate my mother’s embrace of her own alien identity… and her invitation to all of us to recognize the alien in ourselves.

As many of you know, she was, in the most literal sense—the sense in which we hear the term today in our contemporary media—an alien. She was born in 1940 in Kaunas Lithuania. Her family left Lithuania age 3 in a horse-drawn buggy to escape the invading Russians. After a year of travel through wartime Europe, they ended up in a displaced persons camp in Germany, where they remained until 1949.

On April 27, 1949, seventy years ago, my mother entered the United States with her parents, Angela and Justin Skuodas, and her younger brother, Algis. Her immigration card from that day reads as follows:

This is to certify that Audrone Skuodas was admitted to the United States on April 27, 1949 at New York, NY as a N.P. Quota immigrant for Permanent Residence under Section P.L. (Public Law) 774 of the Immigration Act of 1924 and has been registered under the Alien Registration Act, 1940.

The Public Law 774 referenced is the Displaced Persons Act of 1948, which authorized for a limited time the admission into the United States of 200,000 certain European displaced persons for permanent residence. For those of you who are historians of America’s complex history of immigration laws, you will know that these are the very laws that set up the kind of restrictive policy toward immigration that is experiencing a resurgence today.

For my mother, for as long as l have known her, she has advocated peace and gentleness in the face of the violence of which we are capable of humans. And so for her, the status of alien was an identity to be gently embraced, explored, and celebrated. Many of you have undoubtedly heard her say that she didn’t fit in this world. A feeling that many of us have probably experienced on and off through our lives. But a feeling in which Audra immersed herself as a person and as an artist.

The second artifact of Audra’s creativity that I have brought reflects how her response to feeling like an alien resulted in a passion and creativity from which all of us benefited.

My mother Audra certainly understood herself as an alien who didn’t fit in this world. But an alien who found a partner, my father—also an alien in his own right!—with whom to both explore this world that she didn’t understand. And to co-create a space with my father in which we could navigate this puzzling world as a family. Our family was almost a world unto itself within the larger world. A space that she co-created with my father. An intellectual space of exploration. A creative space of abundance and joy. And a social space unconditional love.

This is a fabric sculpture that she created an anniversary gift for my father, in 1972, on the seventh anniversary of their marriage, when my sister was one year old, and I was the same age as my three-year-old Sylvia. It shows us absolutely as I experienced us… as a family living in a world where reality and art and imagination were inseparable. Where anniversaries, birthdays, and holidays were occasions for creating beauty with and for one another. Where the boundaries between fantasy and reality simply did not exist.

My mother and father created a space for themselves to occupy as artists. They created a space for their children and grandchildren to occupy as we navigate the world ourselves and understand our own alienhood. They created a space into which they invited so many of you as friends, family, and co-creators of the present and future.

So Dad… Thank you for being Mom’s partner in life. And thank you for still being with us.

And Mom… In all the ways in which you are also still with us, thank you for being the alien that you were. Thank you for the worlds that you created with us and for us.

And thank you for helping us to navigate the larger world with compassion, curiosity, and love.

This is an excerpt from The Stranger Star, a children’s book written in 1923 by Allen Crafton, which casts the moon, stars, and planets as characters in a celestial playground. Audra loved the story and created an illustrated version of the book, annotated with quotations from her favorite religious and philosophical texts. This section comes near the end of the book, after the Stranger Star has been relegated to the role of servant and nurse to the Moon Mother’s other star children, and has been prohibited from going outside or shining in the night sky. An Angel has arrived to select a star worthy of shining for the birth of the baby Jesus, and he has just finished interviewing all of the Moon Mother’s star children for this role.

The Angel turned again to the Star children. Was there not one who gave forth his light from love? he asked. No one responded. Sadly his outstretched hands fell to his sides. The music ceased. With sad countenance and stooping form the disappointed Angel descended the steps and moved slowly toward the door.

Shame over having been refused the honor made the stars sulky and they forgot about owing the Angel any respect. They didn't kneel and whispered so rudely that I couldn't keep from blushing for them. The Angel, too, noticed their bad conduct and lowered his head. In doing so, his eyes fell upon a bit of gray dress and two small knees on the polished floor. Half hidden behind the curtains the little Stranger Star alone of all those in the room, was kneeling. The Angel halted. The Stranger, pushing aside the curtain, looked up into his face.

“I asked you to remain out of sight,” the Moon reproved. “You are in the way.”

The little Star seemed to shrivel up and shrink back among the curtains.  Without so much as a glance at the Moon, the Angel spoke to the Stranger, and his voice was very gentle, as though he were speaking to a long known friend.

"Thou art not in the way, little one," he said, kindly. "Come to me. Tell me why thou art kneeling."

He stooped down before her. She came up to him quite close; there was not the fear in her which the other Stars had had when he approached them.

"Because I am in the presence of the Father's Angel," she said simply.

“What work dost thou do?" asked the Angel.

"Oh, I wash and dust and make beds and sew the children's clothes," was her reply.

"Didst thou make the lovely dress which is the pride of the Evening Star?" he asked.

She nodded. "Why dost thou not wear it?” was the next question.

"Me?" she asked in astonishment. "Oh, I don’t shine.”

“When thou art out of doors in the night dost thou not wish to shine?”

“I used to shine, she said, but I have found lots of things to do without shining.  And now I don’t go outside.”

The Moon Mother then began telling the story, saying that the nurse had been very disobedient and was being punished by working in the house.

The Angel turned again to the Stranger "What didst thou do which was wrong?" he asked.

"Well," she replied slowly but honestly, "I-I changed some moonbeams and--and I got some water for a thirsty Cloud--"

"And for this thou art being punished?"

"Yes," she nodded.

"Dost thou still love the Moon Mother and her children?"

"Why, yes," she answered quite amazed at such a question.

"And art thou happy?"

"Oh, I am as happy as I can be," she smiled.

A new look came into the Angel's face;

He rose to his full height and stood above the little figure. In a voice tender and strong, he said in a manner that made all listen to him,

“Little Star of Loneliness
In thy blackened servant dress,
Toiling at thy duties humble,
Working on without a grumble,
Taking unjust punishment,
Loving those by whom 'tis sent,
Being kind though they abuse thee,
Always finding good to please thee,--
Thou hast filled thy spirit from Above,
And from it shines the Light of Love."

Suddenly a splendid dazzling light filled the room. It came from the wonderful dress which the Little Stranger Star wore. The pure white light was more brilliant and beautiful than the light of any other Star. And when I caught sight of her face! Why—I rebuked myself that I had not before noticed its strong resemblance to the Angel's. Then the most wonderful thing of all happened; without a word from the Moon Mother, each selfish Star knelt before the Stranger Star with bowed head.

And, oh, as if he had never really spoken before, the very heart of the Angel seemed to speak now,

“Love is oft an unseen thing
Though ‘tis with the and doth bring
Perfect joy which selfish pride concealeth;
Till at length thine eye sees clear,
Then there’s naught to thee more dear
Than the light with Love revealeth.”

I came to Oberlin about 20 years ago, in fact working out of this very building. In that time I have witnessed innumerable wedding and memorial celebrations. I am honored to be a part of this celebration of Audra's life and the impact she had on all of us.

I don't remember exactly when I met Audra and John. They appeared in my life soon after I moved here. When I came to Oberlin someone told me that one of my duties was to send an email a bunch of people for a meet up on Thursday evenings at the Feve.

The night in question was most likely a night that Audra wanted to go out and socialize, and John would have been perfectly happy hiding out at home. Nonetheless he indulged Audra's impulse to make these outings.

We had a great group of people at these gatherings, many who are here today, and we are all missing Audra..

Audra was always curious about people. She would look to see who was new in town and make a beeline to find out about who they were and what made them tick.

I spent many hours in long conversation with her. Honestly I often had no idea what on earth she was talking about but it was always entertaining and I was always happy to be in that conversation.

On one occasion I remember confessing to her that I felt like I was a bit of a hoarder because I had acquired too many beads. I had a toolbox full. I had no idea what I was in for...

Audra invited me to her house which may have been my first visit there. She proceeded to show me the most dazzling and dizzying array of beads I had ever seen a private home in my entire life. She also showed me some of her creations which I lusted after. She did such beautiful work.

I can also attest to the beauty she created in some of her edible delights. Audra made an amazing coffee cake that she would bring to parties that Jamie and I frequently hosted. My sister and I quickly learned to profusely thank Audra for the cake and then hide it so nobody else could eat any. It was ours, all ours. I do have the recipe if anybody is interested. (see below)

After knowing John and Audra for a number of years I “met” online my now husband Jamie who was living in London. It was early days of internet dating and all I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time. At some point I decided that I should meet him in person. Audra and John were supportive as was my mother who is here today. When I reflect on this I think they are all as crazy as I was. Cadence, you probably don't know this but you and Dan were my backup. If things went terribly awry I was going to impose upon you. I was confident it would not be an issue because after all, how many ax-murderers have there been in the history of the world? Thankfully things worked out. So far..

… and eventually Jamie moved to Oberlin. As one does from the fabulous city of London to rural Ohio. Since there is a healthy English Mafia in the area our friendship was cemented.

I am going to go out on a limb and say that we all know that Audra made up words. in that tradition and early in our couples friendship Jamie and I created a new verb based on our evenings out. It is to Audra a drink. This means to drink one cocktail, usually a martini, over the course of many hours. It must always appears as if you are drinking and also that you never get to the bottom of the glass.

My guess is that most people thought this meant she was disciplined but my theory was that she never wanted to get to the bottom of the glass because John would then tell her it was time to go home. And in all honesty I must confess that she and I would frequently sneak a second martini that we would split. These were often poured by heavy-handed bartenders.

I miss and think of Audra often and always when Jamie calls me out on Audra-ing a drink.

Cake with Crisp topping

Mix at room temperature:

• 1 tsp vanilla
• ¾ cup sour cream
• ½ cup butter
• 3 eggs

Sift together:

• 2 cups flour
• 1 tsp baking soda
• ½ tsp salt
• 1 ½ cup sugar

Melt 3 ounces of unsweetened chocolate – allow to cool

Pour batter and chocolate on top of dry ingredients and mix three minutes. Pour into a pan (Audra usually used a Bundt cake pan)

Bake at 350 degrees for 40 – 50 minutes

Topping to drizzle on after baking:

• ½ cup corn syrup
• ½ cup brown sugar
• 4 oz melted butter
• 1 ½ cups pecans

How does one even begin to describe the complexity and wonder that was my mom.  She was remarkable.  Close your eyes.  Visualize her there in your mind and in your heart.  This was her.  . all the myriad facets throughout this room.  She was all of that reflected, refracted, radiating.  Let’s pause and each remember her as we do — in all her guises.  Reflect, honour, cherish those memories of her powerful living spirit.  

My mom was a warrior— a warrior of the Spirit.  As this she taught passion.  She taught love.  She taught strength.  She taught that your gender does not define what you are able to do professionally or personally, but that the archetypal soul of womanhood runs deep and strong and empowered her action.  She taught that no matter what, one should be oneself utterly and completely and without fear.  She taught generosity — how to take time to truly see another and listen to their story, how to offer up beautiful experiences for others, how to put time and effort into making or creating magic for those you love, whether that be a card, a toy, a meal, or an artwork.  

She taught that one should take care in body and dress as respect for self and for others.  That the importance of ritual and tradition, whether through the setting of a table for guests, the offering of a drink, the celebration of a holiday, or the daily routine infuses life with connection, joy and meaning.  That it takes introspection, discipline and consistency to hone one’s craft, but one must always question, always explore, never be complacent or risk the inevitability of contrivance or affectation creeping in.  That focused hard work allows the expression of one’s inner vision to become stronger, clearer and more profound, but only when one retains the innocence of the new, the ability to see the wonder and magic in the smallest thing, and the ability to remain open to one’s unknowing.   That one must never lose sight of the seed, the essence, the spirit in an idea, in a concept, in the pure, raw, innocent drawing of a child — truth is ever present if you only open yourself to it.   That there is a higher power, if we take the time to tap into that and listen to what it has to say, through the I Ching, through prayer, through contemplation.   She taught vivacity and taking advantage of every moment of fun and connection offered to her, whether that was a drink in a seedy bar with a newfound friend, hosting elegant dinner parties,  dancing tango or otherwise, attending every party, having a long spontaneous conversation on a street corner, bringing Manhattans down 3 flights of stairs to the beach, dancing through our whole wedding with two broken kneecaps, or playing Marco Polo on a trampoline with her grandchildren when her blood pressure was so out of control that her dizziness was overwhelming.  

This joy, exuberance, love and kindness is what she taught, what she offered up for others, but the serving for herself was often fraught with worry and anxiety.  Her energy, both positive and negative was overwhelming.  I read recently the sentence LIFE IS STATIC and being with my mom was like being with charged, electrified particles of energy.  Her artwork reflects this tension of energy, this tension of opposites.  It understands that beneath the chaos is an order, a balance, a harmony but on the outside it is a pull of opposites.   When you transcend these opposites you find that all is connected, but to find this harmony requires not a fight, but a letting go of attachment to past pains, to future desires, to need, to want.  My mom did not let go.

A warrior has wounds, but carries on.  A warrior, sees pain and heartache, but continues to fight on for the noble cause.  A warrior dons the armor to protect herself as she soldiers on for the good of humanity, hiding her own needs, wants, desires for the sake of others.  But no one can be strong all the time — you need softness, vulnerability, trust and the ability to let others catch you.  From a young age escaping Lithuania at 3, one can only imagine the horrors she witnessed as her family trudged, much of the way on foot to Germany.  She was a strong spirit, she was able, she was smart, her parents trusted she would be OK, and in that day and age one brushed the pain and suffering under the rug and soldiered on.  Art was her release.  The place where all those emotions, all those thoughts, all that pain could be let out.

She was a victim, a victim of war, a victim of car crashes, amnesia, and she held onto this identity.  But unlike most of us who hold on to our victimhood in one way or another, she transformed that energy into beauty through her art, through truly listening to others.  She was the toughest, strongest warrior you will have ever met, but deep inside was a wounded child wanting to be loved, nurtured, held.  A child who slowly wove a scaffold around the broken bits of her soul to become that warrior.  The spirit weaving a dense, but permeable binding around the un-nurtured heart, fashioning armor out of will to scaffold the vast and powerful spirit as it defied all odds and seeped out with radiance.  She gave and gave in the hopes of creating a world so pure, so true, others could not be hurt the way she had been.  She saw her wounds as irreparable, but had such strength of will and character that she would push them down, cover over the scars and soldier on as a warrior of goodness, compassion, empathy, connection, understanding.  But the wounds were still there and they seeped out in her worry, her profuse anxiety, her speeding mind and thought patterns.  She had to keep going, because if she stopped, those tiny cracks might become chasms that released too much.  

She spent a lifetime martyring herself to her intellectual seeking, to her soul release through art, to helping others and ignored the wisdom of her body, that initially spoke in whispers, but eventually had to scream to be noticed.  She sought to give un-relentlessly through art and generosity, but only at the very end began a glimmer of giving back to herself.  The scream of her body became too loud, the Universe deprived her of all she loved (her vision was too blurry to read, her hands shook too much to create art, she was too dizzy to take her morning walk).  She felt devoid of purpose, and only at this point did she begin to take the steps of self-care.   Expansion of mind and understanding was always foremost in her thinking, but care of body AND soul is the necessary combination for that expansion to become an all-encompassing lived reality.

My mom once said she was afraid to breakdown as she wouldn’t be able to put the pieces together. She funneled all her passion, her pain, her love, her hate, her anger, her frustration, her transcendence, her understanding into her artwork — an outlet to escape, to rise above.  But, she WOULD have had the strength to put back the pieces if she had allowed all her wisdom and understanding to penetrate the core of her own being, to heal the scars of her childhood, to allow the complete splintering necessary for healing and growth.  Never have I met someone with her strength of will and conviction.  But that soft underbelly beneath the armor, the pain, the overwhelming fear, the unknown of allowing all the pieces to fall away from their fragile, yet powerful binding, bound her in with worry.  The worry that if the truth of all that lived pain were released, the soul might not be able to survive.  Never trusting completely that the authentic power of her spirit would override the strength  of the seemingly indomitable will.  Instead she allowed that will to control, push on, never stop, when with full surrender peace would be found.  I think at the very end she finally surrendered and found this peace

I can't say she passed away, as I believe she has joined "the music of the spheres" that she spoke of…that she is part now (as she always has been) of the "cosmic resonance" and that her energy is more pervasive not tied to its physical body. As much as I will miss her complex, intense, intelligent, creative, vivacious, dignified, eloquent, inspiring, tangible presence, my prayer is that she is now at peace.
She lived each moment with intention, intensity and purpose and devotion to a higher Truth. She was a being who saw so deeply, understood so clearly and held such sensitivity in every fibre that she had only two choices (as we all do): to build those layers of armour in a belief that they will protect one's survival OR to completely release and flow. She was stuck between these two worlds and that flow came through her devotion to motherhood, through her transformative human connections, and through her artwork. She otherwise kept herself like a dignified, elegant fortress of immense and impenetrable strength -- a warrior of the utmost. I pray that she now no longer has to use her inimitable artistic vision to pierce through the layers of inbuilt emotional armour, but that her full beautiful being can join her spirit to live in complete harmony. . .that she can become one with her art. . be an energetic expression of what she painted.

I know that the pure, high energy and vibration she created in her physical lifetime has impacted so many and will continue to impact many for years to come. She has not left us, she has just changed form and I believe she is everywhere. I grieve the loss of the ability to connect in a human way with her. I miss her presence. I miss all that she still wanted to offer up from herself. I miss the coffees together, the sharing of laughter and even the flagrant fights BUT I know that her presence will continue to be strong and her influence great. 

She had a rich life of which not one moment was wasted. Each moment she was seeking, expanding, improving. Each action was spent with a higher purpose in mind, with the hope to translate an understanding of a greater potential for the world and for us. I feel the greatest way to honor her legacy is to not waste a single second of of life.   Tune in to passion, let it feed, let it lead, follow and embrace it with every fibre of your being.  Live every moment with passion, energy, and truth whatever shape or form that takes.  But do not waste the precious seconds our souls were given in these bodies.  Always ask yourself my mom’s favorite question to others, not “what do you do?”  But “Who are you?”  Know the answer and live it with entirety.  This is what she did.  This will be her legacy.

As she wrote, “The seed is the synthesis and growth the analysis and Life the definition.”

I love you mom and although I miss your being in this world, I know you are everywhere adding to the beautiful symphony of the Universe.. .

Several dear friends were unable to join us today, and so they shared sentiments and stories about our beloved. So in true Audra fashion, we present a collage of words from friends Amy Gerson, Heidi Tewarson, Rod Carswell and Kirby Talley.

As everyone who came in contact with Audra knows, she was a remarkable woman -  rare combination of beauty, grace, elegance and intelligence.

Thinking about Audra is easy. She comes to mind at unexpected moments, and our thoughts linger and pursue the memory as it leads us to various points in our lives that we spent with her.

She turned every aspect of her life in to expression – either artistic - in her painting, drawing, collage, needlework or books – or expressions of love through her motherhood to Jason and Cadence with countless projects and creative magic. In all of it reflecting her unique vision of the world, combining deep spirituality in conjunction with emotion.

Audra was one of the most original and outstanding artists I have had the good fortune to know. Her profound attachment to her creative muse and apparent indifference to the art world’s acknowledgment still strikes me.

If you remove the “d” from Audra, you are left with “aura,” something I immediately noticed about Audra. It graced her like a golden halo around an exotic and beautiful empress, standing serenely in a mosaic. Standing and waiting, perhaps to be adored.

This is meant to be a celebration of Audra’s life. But her last year was part of her life too, a time of suffering and sadness and frustration. Initially after the stroke, she was receptive and enjoyed jokes and tried her hand at drawing. She would have a big smile or firm hand squeeze for visitors, but barely any words. The retreat in to herself came gradually and the visits became harder and more wrenching. We always wondered about the extent of her engagement or memory – it seemed very elusive. But occasionally, she would snap -  eyes open and fully alert, wanting so desperately to communicate – and again you saw her strength.

Audra is no longer among us; but our remembrance will continue to cherish a unique, kind and gentle human being.

She will never be forgotten, as long as people who knew her are here to testify; and even when that trace runs dry, her prodigious and brilliant output will stand as a testament to the fact that a remarkable woman was here.

Audra is now in the perfect attunement with the vibrations of the universe and one with the mystery.

Fifty years ago we met Audrey, as she then was, and John for the first time, in Nova Scotia. We immediately loved their personalities, and their company. "If you are ever in Cleveland," we said, "please look us up." Little did we know that good fortune would respond to our wish - as two years later, John was offered a position at the Cleveland Institute of Art, and he and Audra and nine-month-old Jason came to live in Cleveland.

Our lives intertwined as our daughter Camilla was born, and then Cadence was born, and then our younger daughter Imogen was born. We shared countless lovely experiences with "Aunty Audrey" and "Uncle John".

From the beginning we were inspired by our exposure to both John's and Audra’s artistic creativity, their hard work, and, above all, to their kindness.

We were particularly humbled by the overwhelming generosity with which Audra would dedicate hours of her precious time to creating gifts of drawings, paintings, costumes, Christmas stockings, and even books. We felt we had so little to return that had any equivalence.

There was just one occasion when we were thrilled to have discovered something of value for her. We were familiar with Audra's recurring theme of the female figure, perhaps a dancer, constricted by the frame of the painting that portrayed her. Restrained, limited, perhaps imprisoned by a geometric rectangle. The Audra constrained within the borders of the Audrey.

Well, one night Sarah and I were watching a video of Rossini's Moses and Pharaoh, which is itself a story of escape from confinement. We were astonished to see a dance sequence introduced by a mesmerizing figure - a dancer so supple, so double-jointed, so flexible that her limbs were able to trace the outline of an imaginary confining rectangular frame.

The dancer herself even bore some physical resemblance to the images that Audra created. We showed the video to her, and she was transfixed by it. She was later kind enough to say that it was life-changing for her. We just wish that there had been more opportunities for us to return her love and friendship.

One year ago, a new imprisoning rectangle imposed itself on her. This time it was not in the form of a wooden picture frame, but as an iron hospital bed. Today we mark Audra's final escape from confinement. The free spirit that was Audra is now forever free.

Audra and Poetry

It was a warm summer evening. Many years ago. At my husband’s gallery in Gordon Square Art District in Cleveland.

Among the crowd, A tall, slim, and majestic looking lady drew me to her like a magnet.

Perfectly fitted kitted top with a singular neutral color in a minimalist form, beautifully pressed pencil skirt in a pastel tone - maybe grey with a blue hue. Both seem to be made of materials that would require dry cleaning - something I tried to avoid at all cost with my non-stop travel schedule back then.

Then it was these big-toed funky square-heeled colorful shoes! They looked amazing, particularly in contract to the pastel colors and simple forms above. This lady knew how to make a statement!

As I walked closer, I noticed her accessories which included her medium-length silver hair and a gorgeous Art Deco style necklace - daringly flamboyant yet amazingly tasteful sitting on her neck. It was hard to quickly comprehend how she was able to pull off these eclectic pieces boldly together and yet exude a a sense grace and poise that was distilling in nature.

It was not until I started talking to her that I was really blown away. I thought I did a pretty good job with English as my second language. This lady was speaking pure poetry! I think I didn’t understand at least a quarter of the words she used!

Well, she communicated. And she communicated powerfully. As she carefully selected each word and deliberately articulated them - maybe for effect, sometimes with her head looking to the side or slightly up to search for the perfect word, and her hand raised to illustrate her thinking process, I was able to follow her.

I was able to follow her intricate mind, inside which is a world of imagination filled with rich, sensitive and passionate expressions; relentless search for a deeper connection; and a never-ending dialogue with the mystery of life.

For all these years, I looked forward to the days I could have a conversation with Audra. To be more accurate, to listen to Audra. To listen her beautiful words, even if I didn’t understand them. The energy I felt around Audra was both centering and expansive. It was - cosmic.

To me, that is pure poetry.

Audra, YOU ARE pure poetry.

Thank you for being with us. Thank you for leaving the world with your gift. Your poetry will always be with us and for many to come.

Please close your eyes. Think of one of your favorite moments with Audra… a moment that epitomizes for you the person that she was in your life. Recreate in your mind where you were. If you can, the sound of her voice. Her laugh. Her unique turns of phrase.

Keep your eyes closed. And appreciate, now, all of the memories that are sitting in the minds of everyone around you in this room. In a very real sense, Audra is still with us. Still with all of us. In these memories.

And the person that you knew as Audra is undoubtedly a different Audra than the person next to you knew. She was a complex lady. In some ways, although we were very close, I always felt like there were parts of her that I didn’t know. Parts of her still to discover. And there still are. She is still with us, and there are still unknown parts of her here, among all of us, to be discovered.

So with that, I invite you to join us across Tappan Square for a reception where we can continue the celebration.

From the Atoms up to the universe, each of the cosmic movements possesses a tempo, a rhythm, a periodicity and can be compared then to vibration, therefore to a sound which expresses its nature...

All atoms can thus be considered as the forms of an energy which expresses itself in a rhythm, and all substances are characterized by a particular relationship of rhythms which can be represented by a relationship of sounds.

It is because of this similarity between the relationships of the sounds on the one hand and the forms and substances of Nature on the other, that language and music are possible.

Thus the universe springs forth from the Word.

This transcendent Word is only a vibration (a materialization) of the Divine thought which gives rise to the fractioning of unity which is creation. The Word (saabda in Sanskrit, the logos of the Christians and Gnostics) whose nature is pure vibration, represents the essential nature of all that exists.

Concentric vibrational waves span outward from innumerable centers and their overlappings form nodules of trapped energy which became the whirling fiery bodies of the heavens.

This emitted sound... is what the Pythagoreans would call the Music of the Spheres.

R . Lawlor