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Vale Kari đź’™

Jan 10, 2024 | Benevolutionaries

“born into and borne away“

I’m very sad to say that Kari King, Benevolution’s co-founder and inspiration for this website, passed away just before Christmas, 2023.

Kari King is the co-founder of this site, Benevolution. She coined the word, co-created the concept and inspired so much more than what you’ll read here.

There are many beautiful vignettes, across this site and being shared beyond here, about her.

All who knew Kari, the beauty, love and presence that she so embodied, are  blessed. We are touched and transfigured by her vibrancy and playfulness, her deep empathetic connections with all. This entangles into our lives and beyond, particularly animals, all species and trees. You’ll find it in her poetry and with people and landscapes. So much aliveness and gentleness.

Her sister Kris writes:

Kari’s story and legacy will long live on as the seeds she planted of love, levity, friendship, art, poetry, deep appreciation of flora and fauna, and compassion bloom and grow…

The world is less luminous and lyrical after Kari Jean King flew free from her earth-bound body on December 20, 2023. She fought a cruel cadre of co-occurring diseases with grace, bravery, and so much humor for six years. By December she was virtually paralyzed and in great pain, but fully lucid and laughing and loving until the end.
 
She passed away peacefully in her sleep after a day of enjoying good food (chocolate peanut butter ice cream was her last meal), bawdy humor, music, beautiful conversations, and was attended to and cared for by a group of family and friends who loved her deeply. On her last evening, she spoke to her son, we turned on a sleep story, tucked her in with a kiss and soft blankets, and she quickly slept and snored away until she stopped breathing about 5:20 am.

For myself, Simon, (Kari and I were married) while I’ve knew through 2023 and with many tears we had completed in all the appropriate ways we could, it is still way way way too soon.

Now, many connections are letting the memories and Kari unfold, pulsate and dilate, just be: filtering resonances diffusing into entireness.

…

In Kari’s poem—When I Die, Plan B—below you’ll find so much of herself in it—aliveness, mischievous and such an empathetic being with all. Enjoy!

Kari, from the barn in Pony, as we’re recording (with Malcolm her son) a cover of Hope is a Dangerous Thing:

I’ve been tearing around in my fucking nightgown
24/7 Sylvia Plath
Writing in blood on your walls
…
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
But I have it
Yeah, I have it
Yeah, I have it
I have
by Lana Del Ray

When I die
Plan B

By Kari King (2016)

First, build a boat. Much smaller
than Noah’s and not in anticipation
of an epic flood; it doesn’t need to
be seaworthy or even to float. I’m
thinking of a canoe made of skin-
soft birch bark. Two, ask of you
this awkward favor, this parting
gift: when the time comes, lay
my body on the fragrant floor of
the canoe, face up, one palm
open, one closed. I hesitate to
mention it, but you are going to
need some kind of crane to hoist
the vessel into the tops of trees.
The many armed willows along
the creek of that same name will
do nicely and bear the weight of a
light craft and her lone passenger.
It will look like a relic from an
ancient body of water long gone
or someone’s idea of a joke. And I
hope that you do laugh when you
look at it: a boat flying through trees
and sky, the way the world can look
one way and be something else,
entirely. The absurdity of thinking
we know how it is, some fixed and
absolute reality. Laugh at this often,
not jeering or bitter, but heartily and
with curiosity and compassion. If it
were summer, birds of every feather
will come to the floating nest to feast.
If it were winter, it will be hawks and
eagles, owls and magpies. Either
way, it will make for excellent bird
watching.Think of this buoyant coffin
as a coffee table to sit around under
the canopy of branches, the blue
wash of sky, the winking stars, the
lit eye of the moon. For silence.
Conversation.
Communion.
Contemplation.
Is the closed hand for having and
holding the things we can touch, few
and fleeting as they are? For petting
and bruising what our bodies know
as kith and kin? For grieving inevitable,
irreconcilable loss? Is the open hand
for surrender or welcoming; for letting
go and letting come? Or is it to feel,
one more time, the way the sun warms,
the wind caresses, the rain quenches,
and the snow chills the bodies we are
born into and borne away through?

Loved One

By Malcolm King Fontana

25 December 2023

Pictures: Festina LentĂ­valdi, (be) Benevolution.
Reuse: Creative Commons BY-NC 3.0 US.

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1 Comment

  1. Anna Alkin
    Anna Alkin on February 23, 2024 at 6:25 am

    Thank you for this beautiful remembrance of Kari.

    I miss her so.

    Reply

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