November 6, 1929-July 13, 2021
January 1, 1920 – January 16, 2017
Hallie Ruth McGonigal
May 4, 1970 ~ January 19, 2011
Hallie Ruth McGonigal passed away peacefully at home on January 19th.
Born May 4, 1970 in La Jolla, she was a graduate of York School and San Francisco State University. Hallie Ruth was a poet, photographer, champion horseback rider, a student of meditation and a beautiful and conscious person. She suffered through pain with grace. In her own words, Start the day out fresh with death. Then love is all the rest.
Hallie Ruth will be missed every day by her mother, her brother, her sister-in-law, her two little nieces and the loving friends she made during her time among us. She will always be remembered and loved.
Hallie and I met at Gangaji’s Satsang in Mill Valley back in 1997. I was on my way back to India at the time but she strongly encouraged me to come and meet Eli in Stinson Beach first. She had a brilliant mind and a truly beautiful heart. Her expression of Satsang was so clear as evidenced in her poetry. I am so grateful to have met her and for the precious time we spent together.
– Sean Kelly
Hallie Ruth was a dear sweet heart. Although she suffered greatly with her body, her love of truth always shone through. She was funny, bright and deeply well-intentioned. Her love was strong and true.
– Eli ( Hallie worked for the Leela Foundation when it first opened its office in Stinson Beach in 1996
Poems by Hallie
Bones as Ballast
The great machine
That generates mind
Reflects upon itself.
The nameless magic,
This wordless Lightening bold of life,
Looks at it’s own reflection
And sees the empty,
Silent ground of being.
Heart as channel.
Bones as ballast.
Seer as seen.
Love is the constant
I am everywhere
In the multitudes
hiding from myself
Love opens my eyes and chest
with a still burn,
like an acid bath to the skin –
Life is death
death is life,
the same street.
Death is a special feather of life,
a holy instigator
the great initiator
more magic of the Self to trust
a sacred switch-off
Life’s open-armed absorption.
It is a horrible, painful kind of constant bliss this being alive
Rising to the occasion of it meeting it everyday, every hour, so much –
Like a million volts through a sixty watt bulb,
coursing electric life energy,
until the day the shell just breaks –
and what reckoning that is.
I close my eyes so I can hear the voice of god, my own heart the truth-
Let the crowd pierce it wide open.
Let them all in.
I take the greed of solitude and let it burn.
Such a holy fire!
When avarice has turned to ash,