On gratitude

The arrival of the Autumn Equinox hums with the energy and rhythm of abundance.  May we set the intention of seeing clearly the fullness of abundance with which we have been gifted, and hold fast to the faith that the Universe always does, and always will support us.  And let us be reminded that moving through the world in a space of gratitude is among the most powerfully creative of actions, assuring that there will always be more for which to be grateful.

-C.D.

“If the only prayer you said in your whole life was ‘thank you’, that would suffice.”

-Meister Eckhart

On grief

“Having loved enough and lost enough, I’m no longer searching, just opening, no longer trying to make sense of pain but trying to be a soft and sturdy home in which real things can land.”

-Mark Nepo

It never fails, Autumn always returns.  Autumn brings in it’s tide sacred holidays of the season, and the promise of more to come with the Winter Solstice.  It never fails, in my 20-plus years in clinical practice, Autumn has shown herself to be a bittersweet time.  Sweet in the sense that she paints a vibrant picture of abundance and reminds us that standing in a space of gratitude is standing in the light of hope, because if what is good and full came to us once, it can come again.  The energy of Autumn travels through the glory of abundance, into a time of rest, of reflection.  It opens the door through which we glimpse the increased darkness of the shortening days, and the call to still ourselves, to reflect, and as often happens, to grieve the light and fullness of what has passed.

It never fails; in the Autumn increasing numbers of people come to me,carrying with them echos of grief. Perhaps it is the grief over the death of a loved one, or perhaps the ending of a relationship with a romantic partner or trusted friend, or perhaps the loss of a vocation, a sense of purpose.  No matter the nature of the perceived loss, Autumn seems to highlight, intensify, the ache of grief.  Maybe it’s the approaching holidays, with accompanying memories or fantasies of how they were or how they “should be”.  Maybe it’s the inherent rhythm of the season, calling us to burrow in, to peek into the dim corners, to cease distracting ourselves from ourselves.

Grief begins by showing itself in sharp relief to everything surrounding it.  It begins by seemingly defining all of our moments, all else paling in comparison. It feels that our world will forevermore be experienced through the filter of grief, and we are afraid.  But the fear is simply our call to attention, the message that there is something, some part of our self, requiring our care.

It never fails, it takes courage to grieve well.  A wise woman, who happens to be my mother, has often been known to say, “Time heals all wounds.”  While there is truth to this statement it requires some additional clarification.  For the sheer passage of time does not necessarily heal anything, rather the experiences contained within that passage of time are critical.  Traveling through grief requires us to open ourselves, to allow for more; more joy, more love, more uncertainty, more loss, more disappointment, excitement, success, stumbles, dances, to more of whatever life holds.

We don’t “get over” a loss, but rather our experience of grief becomes woven into the greater tapestry of our life. Moments continue where our breath is taken, where our heart catches, but grief loses the sharp edges, the acute sting.  Grief begins to transform, to inform our experience, adding a richness and depth to relationship, recreating the lens through which we see. Grief will cease to stand in sharp relief, will cease to be solely defining as it is framed by new joys, new sorrows, as it is framed by the fullness of experience.  It never fails.

 

On being home

Perhaps there is a Higher Self.  A self unencumbered.  A self still brilliant, untarnished.  A spot of Grace.  Within us.  Above us.  Somewhere.

Perhaps it speaks to us.  Sings.  Reminds us of who we are.

Listen.

Perhaps it shines.  Illuminates the way before us.  Guides us on.  Makes safe deliberate steps.  Even dancing.

Look.

This spot of Grace.  This is home.

-C.D.

“Let no one keep you from your journey, no rabbi or priest, no mother who wants you to dig for treasures she misplaced, no father who won’t let one life be enough, no lover who measures their worth by what you might give up, no voice that tells you in the night it can’t be done.  Let nothing dissuade you from seeing what you see or feeling the winds that make you want to dance alone or go where no one has yet to go.  You are the only explorer.  Your heart, the unreadable compass.  Your soul, the shore of a promise too great to be ignored.”

-Mark Nepo

 

Shining On

“There can be no despair when you remember why you came to Earth.  Didn’t you say you were a believer?  Didn’t you say you pledged to listen to the voice of the whole?  Didn’t you ask for Grace?  Don’t you remember that to be in Grace means to submit to the voice of the whole?  

One of the most calming and powerful actions you can do to intervene in a stormy world is to stand up and show your soul.  Soul on deck shines like gold in dark times. The light of the soul throwsee sparks, can send up flares, builds signal fires, causes proper matter to catch fire.

Look out over the prow:  there are millions of boats of bright souls on the waters with you.  Even though your veneers may shiver from every wave in this stormy roil, I assure you that the long timbers composing your prow and rudder come from a greater forest.  That long-grained lumber is known to withstand storms, to hold together, to hold its own, and to advance regardless.

We are needed, that is all we can know.  And though we meet resistance, we more so will meet great souls who will hail us, love us and guide us, and we will know them when they appear. 

-Clarissa Pinkola Estes

On bearing witness

Life has a way of offering us many opportunities to do our growing, our healing. Some of these opportunities are less comfortable than others.  Some can bring us to our knees.  As individuals connected in this web of experience, we will be called upon to lift someone, to hold the mirror, to remind someone of who she is.

We often struggle with finding “the right words” to offer comfort, the appropriate actions to ease suffering.  Perhaps we need to be reminded that showing up and holding space is a powerful gift that we are all capable of offering. Sometimes what a person needs most is to know that she is seen. Remember that energy follows thought.  Thoughts are powerful. The conscious intent to hold a space of integrity, of faith, of compassion, is profound. Some call this prayer.  Some call this intention setting.  Some call this bearing witness.  It could be said, “Don’t just do something, stand there.”  Just “standing there” is a powerful act when we stand beside each other in the created space of love, in the spirit of lifting each other, with the intention of shining light in the apparent darkness.  In this respect we are all healers.

- C.D.

• Some people when, told of witness tress, pause in chopping a carrot or loosening a lug nut and ask, “Witness to what?”  So while salad is made, or getting from A to B is repaired, these people listen to the story of the Burnside Bridge Sycamore, alive at Antietam, the bloodiest day of the war, or the Appomattox Court House honey locust, just coming to leaf as Lee surrendered, and say at the end, “Cool”.  Then the chopping continues with its two sounds of separation of carrot from carrot, the harder crack of knife against cutting board, or the sigh, also slight of the lug nut as it’s tightened against a wheel.  In time, these people put their hands under water and say, not so much to you, but to the window in front of the sink, “Think of all the things trees have seen.”  Then it’s time for dinner, or to leave, and a month passes or a year, before two fawns pass in front of the car, or the man you’ve just given a dollar to lifts his shirt to the start of the 23rd psalm tattooed to his chest, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,”  when some people say, “I feel like one of those trees, you know?”  And you do know.  You make a good salad, change a wicked tire, you’re one of those people, watching, listening, a witness, to whatever this is, for as long as it is amazing, isn’t it, that I could call you right now and say, “They still can’t talk to dolphins, but are closer,” as I still can’t say everything I want to, but am closer, for trying, to God if you must, to Spirit, if you will, to what’s never easy for people like us: life, breath, the sheer volume of wonder.
• -Bob Hickox