Alice Always

“Hugs! Both sides!”
–Rocio Darlene Arriaga

Once in a great while, a person comes into your life with whom you have an instant rapport, someone who “gets” you in a way that no one else does, who adds to your joy and brings out the absolute best in you. For me, one such person was Rocio Darlene Arriaga. I met her 25 years ago, in late summer 1993. We were both graphic designers at the Chicago Tribune and she had been transferred from Chicago to the suburban office where I was working.

I was reeling from a summer of new adventures. I drove by myself to a few spiritual gatherings that were held far from where I lived. When I returned, I found no one nearby to discuss what I had experienced. I needed to share. For some odd reason, I opened up to Darlene, the new person in my department, who I really didn’t know much about. I immediately felt comfortable in her presence enough to pour out my soul. I started telling her about the drumming, dancing, and ceremonies that took place in nature where I felt connected to everyone and everything. She listened and remained silent as I went on and on about how the experience of a woman’s weekend and other spiritual gatherings had completely changed me. I  mean, here I was, an extreme introvert babbling on and on to someone I hardly knew about really deep matters.

We both came from Catholic upbringings and at first, she was skeptical. The Catholic Church maintains its control over members through guilt and generations of people immersed in their belief system, so it can be a long process to disconnect from indoctrinated programming. We shared our personal childhood experiences with nuns who brought up deep-seated notions within us.

A person’s belief system is likely to change as one is exposed to ideas that are more in tune with one’s soul. Spending a weeklong camping trip in nature with others who are also journeying along paths of inner discovery and awakening can bring about a transformation in consciousness. I took Darlene to her first spiritual gathering the following summer and saw first hand as the wall she had built around her heart began to soften. She started sharing her innermost feelings, which previously she had kept to herself.

We also explored Native American Sweatlodges and shamanic journeying together. (In the coming years, she would pour sweats, singing Lakota songs as well as songs from her ancestral heritage. She had such a beautiful voice.) That year we began meeting members of our soul family. Darlene was the first person I have ever heard say, “He’s my brother from another mother”. I always thought that she invented the phrase.

We continued to grow closer as friends and Darlene began to refer to us as Mario and Luigi. Her daughter was young at the time and enjoyed playing the Mario Bros. video game. As I had a fondness of speaking with silly accents, I good-naturedly accepted the name Mario. I wanted to be Luigi because it had that soothing “oo” sound that I loved so much, like in my nickname Goo. But no matter how often I tried to become Luigi, Darlene wouldn’t let me be Luigi. I continued as  Mario and ended up losing my meatballs. We brought more of our soul family into our little world and Italian names were given out like Antonio, Fabio (with the flowing hair), My Cousin Vinny, Fettucini Alfredo and Pepe di Pino.

We played whole-heartedly, not caring what others thought. Often she would call me and leave a message on my voice mail in an Italian accent that went something like this: “This-a message is for-a Mario. If this is not-a Mario, hang up right now. (pause) OK. This must-a be the real Mario. Mario! Give-a Luigi a call when yous can! Ciao!”

When we talked, we had a special secret code word like children do. No matter what the reason for the call, we began each conversation in silliness. Darlene was a great friend to me, as well as many other people. I am one of many who considered her a “best friend”.

She had a vast network of friends and loved ones. Wherever we went, people were captivated by her upbeat personality. She was loved by many and often received gifts from strangers that she had just met.

Darlene’s sense of humor was unique. On the day I thought of writing this tribute, a 7-year-old memory appeared on my Facebook page:

This is an example of the humor that we shared. Because our office building was close to O’Hare Airport, Darlene came up with the idea of giving out wedgies during lunchtime with our friend Robin. Darlene even named Robin’s car “The Nalgas Mobile”.  Nalgas is Spanish for buttocks.

We imagined that we would say, “Welcome to Chicago, here’s your wedgie!” Of course we never actually did it, but it was one of those fun ideas that we played around with.

Darlene showed love in a special way.
Even if she just met you,
she might give you a hug.
The unique thing about Darlene’s hugs
is that she had to hug you on both sides.

She learned that tradition from our mutual friend, Madonna, who, when she was alive, facilitated Dances for Universal Peace. Madonna had taught Darlene the Sufi way of hugging on both sides for the balance. Not being a big hugger myself, I would usually say I’m already unbalanced and one side is enough to balance me. Darlene would hear nothing of it. It was always “both sides”. She turned on so many people to the “hugs on both sides” custom. This was her trademark, so much part of her that she once received the nickname “Two Hugs”.

Darlene’s first name was Rocio. She sometimes referred to herself as Rocky who was always looking for her Bullwinkle. And just like Rocky the flying squirrel, she had an aviator hat and goggles. She told me that she wore them when she created art.

Pat Thielen, one of our brothers from another mother, took this picture of Darlene decked out in Rocky attire.

Here are more pictures of Darlene with her daughter Jessika:

Darlene was an artist who had dreams of having her art shown around the world. She told me that if she could help one other person see something in her art to help that person heal, that was all she needed. I can relate to that. I also have an altruistic need to help at least one other person. Perhaps it’s a need that wounded healers have. Our personal issues may find healing through the act of reaching out to others.

As an artist, she captured the essence of the person in her portraits. Darlene loved to paint eyes, the windows of the soul.  It was her soulful insights that always helped me out. She always listened to my problems and often gave me inspiring advice. A great many times she talked me off the proverbial ledge. We had a special pact. As I suffered reoccurring bouts of suicidal depression, I asked her to help me through the rough patches. She was so intuitive. At random times when I was feeling terribly depressed and wanted to kill myself, she would call me with the simple message: It is not an option.

It is so ironic that she would be the one to help me through suicidal times because she cherished life so much, enjoying every moment as much as possible.

She called me to the emergency room over 4 years ago when she was having extreme abdominal pains. Because I am a Reiki Master, she asked me to do Reiki on her. I did. I scanned her body but didn’t tell her until later what I saw: cancer.

She ended up getting diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer and having the tumor removed. In the early days of her illness, I stayed with her and watched her dog, Onyx, who was later joined by Orion, another German Shepherd. She said that she always wanted a black female and a white male, for the balance.

She loved animals, especially dogs. Darlene loved Star Wars and named her chickens after characters in the movies. She often commented that she got along with animals better than people.

As friends, we talked about important issues. She preferred this to mundane conversations. Among other spiritual topics, we talked about reincarnation. Darlene insisted that this was not her last lifetime on Earth. She knew she had at least one more. I hope to see her again when she comes back. As we are soul sisters connected through spirit, our bond is beyond dimensions, time and space. She will always be a part of me.

One of the last days that I visited her, I cried and cried before I went to her house. I had finally realized why she called me Mario and not Luigi. I asked her about that once, why couldn’t I be Luigi and she be Mario? “Because Mario goes first,” she said. Goes first, what does that mean?

That morning in my tear-laden state, sobbing on the bed in a fetal position as my beloved held me, I realized what it meant. I went to my first spiritual gathering by myself. I went first. That led me to bring her the following year. Because of that, we met members of our soul family and Darlene reconnected with her personal truth.

As I lie there, I had a mystical moment. I saw the world as I do when I am in touch with my higher self. At moments such as those, my mind goes to my light-filled Dreamscape series paintings. I thought of my shamanic training and when I helped both of my parents in their transition from this world to the next. I was there to help them into the light.

At that moment, I felt the love of the entire Universe. I saw everything so vividly in my mind’s eye what is truly real, the love and connection between everything and everyone; the reason I went to a spiritual gathering in the first place. I was in a space of pure love and I felt the presence of Darlene’s ancestors surrounding me in white golden light. They gave me a message to tell her. I understood my role in this whole scenario, to help others through the gateway into other worlds. Because of Darlene, I had entered new worlds of creativity and imagination.

My soul sister and I had both taken care of our ill mothers at the end of their Earthly journeys. We were there as much as possible for each other through those difficult times. We both said that we would do it again in a heartbeat.

Darlene had been struggling with intense pain through her fight with cancer. She often called me to do Reiki on her to ease the pain. Like so many people with that cruel disease, she desperately wanted to live. She thought she would. She knew she was a healer. That morning, possibly without knowing it, she helped heal a part of me. I saw how she led me further into the world of imagination through her own imagination. I saw our connection in the bigger picture.

When I saw her later that morning, I told her that she was a great shaman because she helped heal a part of me. I told her it was OK to go let go and be with her ancestors. I told her that she was a blessing to everyone that she encountered; each hug she gave was a gift, a little part of her that she shared with everyone. I told her that she restored the balance in others.

Darlene had been my best friend for 25 years. The gift she gave me was both sides of herself. The strong-willed, insightful, wise woman who could be stubborn and challenging at times. Then there was her other side, the gentle, loving, caring, creative, girly-girl who loved to dance, wear lots of bling and play.

In the years that I have known her, I watched her daughter, Jessika, grow and blossom into an accomplished woman.

And I also watched my best friend put up the hardest fight I have ever seen. She fought to the very end. A true testament to her warrior nature.

As part of her lineage, Darlene existed as a Mayan Timekeeper. She mentioned it to me on several occasions but she never described what it meant. She departed this world on July 25, the annual Mayan Day Out of Time. On this day, Sirius, the Dog Star, rises with the sun in the morning.

The Day Out of Time is the last day of the Mayan 13 Moon calendar. It realigns humanity into a renewed appreciation for our inherent divinity and connection to nature. It’s a day to live time as art; a day for universal forgiveness. Her soul chose the energy of forgiveness and art to cross over into the light. I am certain that there is much more to it, with a deeper reason that she now completely understands.

Everyone who knew Darlene probably has a personal story to tell. She was the kind of person who treated people with love and compassion. No doubt she left a special “hugs on both sides” memory in many of the lives she touched.

It is hard to say good-bye. She wanted so much to live. I kept praying for a miracle. Maybe the miracle was there the whole time. Maybe the miracle was connecting with “my sister from another mister” and the time we shared together.

May the Force Be With You Always, My SiStar!

Love,
Ginny
aka Mario