Loved One Lost – Page 2

Decade in Reflection

So much can change in a year. New Year’s Eve is often the prompt for such a review. Considering what we were doing this time last year, for our family, it seems we have a decent year to celebrate. After seeing a movie with the entire family, I rushed my father to the emergency room on the eve of 2019. It was then that a problem we’d dealt with since October was finally diagnosed and in the months that followed a urethral stricture would find repair.

In 2019, unlike the year before, Pop has been at home, rather than in the hospital or rehab (save for the stricture recovery). He also had a procedure to repair the entropion in his left eye, which started while in rehab the year before. This was my first full year as a parental caregiver. It pays very little (I’m living on a tiny fraction of my retirement savings), but offers great reward. I know that my parents are safe, cared for, and that they both feel loved.

There’s much more to review for the year, but I’ve been reminded that we are not just at year’s end, but at decade’s end, so I’ll take a moment to journey through time. This time, ten years ago, I packed up the office of the boss who needed me, and watched him drive away from the office for the last time. 8.5 years earlier, he hired me to be his assistant, and that partnership changed both of our lives for the better. That’s really a story for the previous decade, but I can reflect on how different my life would be now, had the universe failed to align in our favor for a fruitful partnership. This early retirement to care for my parents would have been impossible, had he NOT chosen me in the early part of the decade that came before. I am eternally grateful for the way my life fell apart and came back together.

In my personal life, the beginning of this decade saw the end of an important friendship and a crack in the foundation of my Tribe. Trust was lost and never rediscovered. I’m certain that this soulmate life lesson was about learning why we don’t put people on pedestals, about the destructive nature of shame, and understanding how betrayal can make one feel like they have lost their mind (very useful experience for learning to hold space for others without judgment). Also affirmed, when someone leaves our lives, though it feels catastrophic for the loss of a future we once imagined, in time, our hearts do heal, and we fill that void with different experiences. Not better, not worse, just… different.

In 2012, I made a decision that brought a new group of people into my life, whom I adore. Having struggled with self-loathing and metabolic disorder since my early 20’s, I chose to have weight loss surgery. A woman I met in the support group I joined, became one of my best friends. We have held space for one another through difficult days, which is an important chapter in each of our healing journeys (read my blogpost “Witness to Healing”). The surgery may have been a temporary fix, since my metabolism remains broken, but the purpose of that path was clearly to bring us together. I wouldn’t change a thing.

2013 was a difficult year. It marked the first layoff in the corporate history of the workplace many of us loved. I witnessed so much heartbreak as people who would have chosen to stay forever had to leave. Then 2014 came along and I had a front row seat for the hostile takeover of the board of directors. I do not recommend any of this level of drama for an empathic soul. At the core of these two years was the heavy emotion of feeling helpless and unsafe. This was a period when I felt lost in darkness and could not find my inner light.

In 2015, I realized that sometimes things don’t go the way we planned, but it doesn’t mean they won’t go well. It was up to me to plan and execute more executive retirement events that year than I care to count. There are two positives to note with these changes delivered by so called ‘activist investors’. One is that every executive that I’ve run into since saying farewell at the event I organized on their behalf has reported that they are enormously happy. One I ran into last year said to me, “Melissa, I had no idea what I was missing!” And of course, my greatest loss in 2015 was the boss who loved me. I texted her on her birthday ten days ago, and she replied with photos from the travel adventure she and her husband were returning from with news of the one they were about to leave for with their adult children. Her migraines, a weekly if not daily occurrence while working, are a thing of the past. The other positive is that the company stock performance exceeded the lofty expectations of the guy who felt more like a terrorist in those early days of the takeover. (Again… a boon to my early retirement.)

The next two years swim with memories of tolerance, really. The place I once loved to work felt foreign in energy and culture… but still I couldn’t imagine that life could be better elsewhere. Then, in 2017… a new boss delivered liberation. Her former assistant who now sits at my desk of 16 years, told another she was told just to wait 90 days. I nearly danced out of the building that day, walked out by one of the leaders I supported, the way so many others departed in 2013. I did not feel unsafe, though. I was a little surprised by the sense of relief I felt. Instead of my world collapsing, it was falling into place.

The next year confirmed the sense that I could never return to that corporate world. I started writing and learning and growing, and have not stopped. I spent a year studying death and dying – and learned how live more mindfully. I spent time learning to write and edit for a popular online journal, and decided I prefer to write in my own style, for myself, knowing that comfort or inspiration may be found for those who bless my words with their valuable time and attention. I no longer wish to bend myself to fit the expectations of others.

This year, I planted metaphoric seeds which have grown into a glorious garden of lush connectedness, colorful healing, and bountiful beauty for myself and the sacred gardeners who have traveled this path with me. Eight seasonally evolving workshops and one mountain retreat brought together a new community of remarkable beings who care deeply for the wellness of one another, as they cultivate greater authenticity and joy in their own lives. To me, it feels like the birth of a new Tribe.

In this decade, I have lost friends to cancer, I have celebrated with some the news of remission, and with others, who continue the path of metastasis, facing challenges and overcoming them, I am committed to holding space, either bearing light or sitting in the darkness, with hope they will at least not feel alone. They are great warriors who continue to teach me about surrendering to grace, resting when the body commands, and opening to receive the kindness of others.

As I’ve focused on recreating myself and my world, I have walked with others whose lives have also changed through the death of a loved one or a former career, through aging – either of self, partners, children, or parents, and a host of other types of transformation induced by the unavoidable and unexpected. What has been fortified on this pilgrimage is that we are stronger together, and that we are never alone. Though we are nurturing different dreams for ourselves, we still glory in the manifestation of peace and comfort in the lives of those we love.

I’ve reflected on a decade of loss, but there has also been great adventure. Since 2010, I have been blessed to travel. Many adventures were with my life-long friend, and best travel companion (see my blogpost: “My Favorite Tomboy”). We started the decade with a trip to England, and birthed an annual Art-Cation tradition. Wherever we go, be it in driving distance or via flight, to see family or friends, or to touch the mysteries of history, we seek and find the local artists whose gifts reach through canvas to touch the hearts of others. In 2011, a trip to Scotland with anther friend delivered more magick and new friends. (European travel, for me, was a luxury that a few years without a car payment allowed.) I cannot fathom a life firmly planted. I am grateful for the wanderlust my mother seeded in me.

A decade of reflection could probably go on for just as long. So I’ll come back home to current gratitudes. My parents and I are closer than we have ever been, and not just because they bought a house up the street five years ago. My involvement in my father’s daily care since the last quarter of 2018 has nurtured an intimacy we never had before. And my mother and I have talked through old wounds and healing has been found. I laughed on my way home from setting Dad up with breakfast, to realize that instead of commenting on my weight, my mother complemented my butt. This feels like a good omen for the future. Ha!

Finally, in this decade I have welcomed four cats into my life. One died two years after his arrival, a freak tragedy that he probably thought might be a small adventure, and the other died in my arms in September. It was difficult to give words to the love and affection each of these magickal beings offered me (see my blogposts: “The Love of a Good Cat, Parts 2 and 3”). And last month, the other two beings of fluff and light came into my life and home. We are all still getting to know each other, but I predict a grand love affair in the decade to come.

To bring this reflection to conclusion, acknowledging a million other important things that occurred which I’ve failed to list, I would be remiss not to mention this blog. For many years, I was told by others that I had a gift for writing, and that I should do something with it. I once could not imagine how that might manifest. What on earth would I write about, and who would want to read it? But here we are.

A year and a half of writing about life has taught me a great deal about the power of introspection and sharing – about vulnerability and authenticity. I have been blessed to receive from others the acknowledgment that they found resonance in my words, they have sometimes been introduced to a new way of looking at things, and best of all, they have at times seen themselves on these pages, and found comfort in the reminder that we are all one.

As this decade comes to a close and you move through your own review, I hope that you have found balance. If there has been great change and loss, I hope there has also been great discovery and joy. If your health has been a primary focus, I hope that you have received the love and resources that support your path to acceptance, healing and wellness. I hope that the hardships can be seen as lessons, and that you can see clearly the beauty of your own evolution. I hope that you have found compassion and kindness for nurturing yourself, as well as others. I hope you have found forgiveness… for those who have harmed you, if possible, but more importantly, for yourself, be it for poor choices or for never having made a choice.

With this old decade, I am choosing to leave behind the ‘tradition’ of measuring my worth by how much weight I’ve lost, and my value by the size of my income. Three decades of not-enough-ness is quite enough, thank you!

Into this new decade, I shall only measure my goodness by the love that I give, and my fortune by the love that I receive.

Happy New Year, dear ones. Thank you for walking this path with me. Wishing you an abundance of blessings in the decade to come. May you have all you need and want all you have. You are so loved!

Centering Our Souls at Samhain

Part Four of a Manifestation Story

At the heart of this retreat was the myth of Persephone. When I started studying death last year, as a part of the End of Life Doula studies, I dedicated my learning to Her in the role of Goddess of the Underworld. But here’s the thing… I have chosen a version of the myth which is not tied to patriarchal brutality. I am not interested in perpetuating or celebrating a relationship based on abduction, rape, and entrapment. There is another telling that I prefer. It was one I learned from another, so I cannot verify the source – but I suspect it comes from Dr. Pinkola Estes or another goddess-mother of feminine spirituality. The version that my swiss-cheese memory recalls goes something like this…

Persephone was in a field collecting flowers to make a circlet for her mother’s hair, when she came upon a lost soul who could not find the doorway to the underworld. She returned to her mother, the Goddess Demeter, and told her that she must go into the underworld to guide these lost souls and offer them initiation. Though She did not want to let her go (the plight of most mothers), Demeter watched Persephone’s descent and immediately longed for her return. As she mourned the absence of her daughter, the world fell into a stark, quiet version of itself as a blanket of snow fell and the flowers receded into the earth.

Meanwhile, Persephone took Her place at the crystal doorway to offer seeds of transformation to those who no longer walked upon the earth. Initiation involved consumption of a pomegranate seed, and these garnet seeds would light the inner flame of those moving into a new way of being. When Persephone returned from the underworld to visit her mother, Demeter felt such joy that the earth burst forth in blossoms of celebration, as life and color bloomed once more.

Here we have a story of creation and of changing seasons, mothers and daughters, of love and loss, of passion and responsibility, of transformation, death and renewal. This is a version of an ancient tale I can relate to.

My current belief (current – because I am ever evolving based on my own life experience) about the transformation that death brings is that we are all energetic beings, and in human incarnation we are able to learn and grow through emotions that are not experienced beyond the confines of the body. So, once we have gathered these lessons and intentions, we are free to leave the body behind, as we return to energetic form. Those we love and have lost in body to death, remain ever present in energetic form. My intention for connecting with our lost loves at Samhain, was to use the tool of creative visualization or meditation to sit with them once more.

And so it was Persephone who manifested within the cave of sacred memory to offer us initiation and safe passage. When we reached the central chamber, which was warmed by firelight, with walls donned with portraits of our ancestors and dear ones lost, we sat upon a crimson couch and welcomed whomever chose to step through the doorway veiled in magickal moonlight.

The results of meditation differ, based on experience. Someone who is well-practiced may have honed the ability to get out of their own way to let vision come and judgment or expectation fall away. But one should never negate the vision or experience they find in the sacred space of the powerful mind.

JK Rowling, I feel, captured it perfectly in The Deathly Hallows, when Harry asks the ghostly image of Professor Dumbledore:

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”
“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Some of us had very clear, even life-altering conversations with one or more people on that comfy couch. Some of us saw ourselves surrounded by smiling loved ones who were present, without words. As for me, I found an opportunity to seek forgiveness and receive acceptance at the edge of the underworld.

I had no expectation of my own personal journey, since I had written the meditation, led the visualization, and was ultimately holding space for the experience of others. However, as I provided the silent pause for those on this journey to find connection, someone came through the veil for me.

In January of 1993, I volunteered in the buddy program for Hope & Help, a local resource for people living with HIV. I was introduced to my first and only buddy somewhere around my 24th birthday. I was the first ‘stranger’ his parents left him with, so that they could go to church together. When they left, he told me that he was being punished by God. This broke my heart and made me angry, all at once. I am not a fan of religions that lead people to believe they are worthy of abandonment and abuse from a supposed all-powerful being. He was a young and passionate choir leader for his gospel church. He had a blood transfusion during a surgery after his appendix burst. He died in November of that same year, a week before his 28th birthday.

It was Kirby who came through the veil for me. He was smiling and happy to see me, and the feeling was mutual. A part of my guidance was to consider the conversations we never got to have… the ones where we have the opportunity to say to our loved ones: Please forgive me. I forgive you. Thank you. I love you. 26 years have passed since Kirby left this earthly realm, and he came through so that I could tell him something I needed to say.

When I was 24, I had not yet learned about life, let alone death. I had minimal access to my gift for words. When I sat with him, whether in his home or in the hospital, I felt a complete lack. I did not know what to say or how to say it. I sat and held his hand and looked into his eyes, but I always felt that I provided little comfort. But here’s the thing I’ve carried… shame. When I held his hand as he lay in his hospital bed, lung capacity too weak to push out words, I was not fully present. As I held his hand, I thought about the fear I carried for a disease on which I had been well-educated. I knew that holding his hand was zero risk for my wellness, and yet I can recall leaving the room and washing my hands with urgency. The only real threat was to him… my germs could compromise his health, and not the other way around. I would give anything to be able to sit with him again with the presence, compassion, and understanding I now possess.

I asked Kirby for his forgiveness, and even now, I can almost hear his voice. “Oh, Melissa. There is nothing to forgive!” As he tilts his head, glances at me with compassion, and offers me that gorgeous grin… tears flow, and I know that this is happening inside my head, and also that this is real.

When I lead a meditation, my main worry is whether the silence I offer is long enough for a message to be received, or so long that I lose the mindful attention of those I’m hoping to lead. When Kirby faded into the veil, I ended the silence with these words…

We know that time moves differently in the Underworld, and that though we long to be with our loved ones, we know that now is not that time. Tonight is a moment when time stands still, and here we were blessed to connect between the worlds.

But time will move on and we shall go with it. Much like when we connect in the realm of the living, it feels as if no time has passed… so will be the day when they come to greet us and take us from the temporary realm to the eternal.

Until then… we honor them by choosing to live in joy and happiness. It would be an insult to their sacrifice not to.

We made our way out of sacred space the same way we came in, and we shared the stories of our experience. We cried together, and we amazed one another with knowledge of healing offered and received between the worlds.

The next day, a meditation informed everyone of a gift from Persephone. We were all given a garnet pomegranate seed, in the form of a teardrop bead attached to a small silver ring. The symbolism was that we would be offered safe passage any time we wished to connect with our loved ones, and when our time comes, we, too, will be received and initiated by Her love.

We then took the gift we were given, and selected a series of other beads to encircle our wrists in the form of a bracelet that would forever remind us of this time we’ve shared at the edge of the underworld.

The final piece of the remembrance portion of the retreat was to write the names of those we had invoked onto gathered autumn leaves. We drove to a nearby river, walked to the center of the bridge, and blew kisses into the wind, as our leaves floated down and around, returning our beloveds to the eternal flow of the river that separates us.

When we returned to the mountain house we now recognized as home, some of us stepped into the kitchen, and continued the preparation of a true Thanks-Giving meal. When my hosts suggested a full turkey dinner with all the sides, I thought it sounded great, but I hadn’t really considered the symbolism.

We were at the end of our time together. We twelve had chosen to be vulnerable and authentic. We supported and celebrated transition and transformation. We cried together, and we built a bond that transcends time and space. We agreed that we wanted to do this again. And we gave thanks for all of it.

The day before these gorgeous beings gathered, I started a seven month course on Holding Space Leadership, and our course creator and guide, Heather Plett, shared with us a poem. As she read these words, I understood that I would share them, too. They are perfection. So, before we sat down to our final full-togetherness, I read these words to my courageous and wonderful guests, and now… I offer them to you.

Blessing for a New Beginning by John O’Donohue

In out of the way places of the heart
Where your thoughts never think to wander
This beginning has been quietly forming
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.
For a long time it has watched your desire
Feeling the emptiness grow inside you
Noticing how you willed yourself on
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.
It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the grey promises that sameness whispered
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent
Wondered would you always live like this.
Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream
A path of plenitude opening before you.
Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.
Awaken your spirit to adventure
Hold nothing back, learn to ﬁnd ease in risk
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

Each farewell the next morning took away a little piece of my heart, in the form of longing and protection. And by noon, we were three again. We set to the task of breaking the set, and packing it up. Our journey down the mountain would come the next morning, and there was much to do.

Gratefully, the universe rewarded me with a little more time with my dear hosts, who drove over from their daughter’s home. I was pleased to share my gratitude for the remarkable journey we had all shared in this beautiful space that held us all in warmth and love. And because it is what sacred gardeners do, I planted seeds of intention for two retreats in 2020. My life-long friend took notes during our eleven hour drive home, on our ideas for how to manifest more self-love at Beltaine next May. I can’t wait to light that candle and dedicate that hearth to bless, once again, the journey we will share.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I’m so happy to be here with you for this brief moment in time. May the season of light bring you an abundance of blessings.

Persephone’s Passage

A Journey Into the Underworld

Part Three of a Manifestation Story

When the sacred ceremony for our beloved Crone was complete, we shared a delicious meal that our hosts had prepared for us, and when we were warm and well-fed, we gathered at the heart of the house, beside the hearth fire.

I spoke of my gratitude for this remarkable gathering of those who have been walking this path with me all year, and those who walked with me long ago. I lit the candle of my intentions, with the word RETREAT front and center. I asked my travelers to close their eyes as we grounded ourselves into the present moment, and then we moved our minds into a sacred grove of trees to which we would return throughout the weekend. This circle of ancient beings held space for each of us as we remembered those we have loved and lost. They reached out their branches to us and begged to hold symbols of our love, as we pulled photos and trinkets from imaginary pockets. Into each tree our love and longing was gently placed. And then, we opened our eyes to dedicate these intentions to the Ancestors’ Altar before us. We each pulled out photos and placed them upon the mantle and hearth, as we called the names and shared stories of those we love beyond the veil.

And as we felt the honor and arrival of each soul into our circle, we bid them a warm welcome, and eventually made our way into warm beds and deep sleep.

Saturday morning brought the sunshine and a report from our Crone that she slept soundly without the burden she once carried. Once we were all awake and ready to return to our work, we circled at the hearth once more. As I was preparing for this retreat, I thought of our intention to journey into the underworld to spend some time connecting with our lost beloveds. What came to mind for me at the thought of gathering with my ancestors was the idea of which I’d read, that we can choose to heal what had been passed down the family line, and effectively heal that wound in both directions – past and future.

In my Mabon workshop, for the Autumn Equinox, we did a cord cutting ceremony. We cut the cords that remained tied to those who had harmed us, or to ideas of who we SHOULD be based on the beliefs of others. When we were done, many felt that we could spend more time on this, because there were more cords to be severed. So, it was an easy decision to make this a part of our retreat. I loved the idea of sitting with my grandmother and letting her know that I had chosen to heal this familial trauma for myself, for my mother, for her, and for all of our relations throughout time.

This ended up being more powerful than I had imagined. It turns out, some of us are really conscious of what is holding us back, and can easily see how it may have been passed down through generations.

The ceremony took some time, because it needed to be focused for each and every one of us. I cut the cords for one of our Tribe members, and then she stepped forward to wield the sword of surrender for all others. As each sacred soul stepped forward, they were asked:

Are you ready, willing, and able to sever, release, and retract any and all cords attached to people, places, events, emotions, feelings, fears, traumas, and unknown and unseen forces that bind you and your familial line, that keep you from living fully present and in joy? “I AM!”

Do you who are holding space in this sacred circle offer your loving support and positive energy toward the safe, healing endeavor of our dedicant, for her/his highest good and for the good of all? “WE DO!”

Will you allow and receive the loving assistance and positive energy of those surrounding you who are holding space for you in loving light, who offer their energy for the highest good of you and for all? “I WILL!”

Do you wish to name aloud or silently those people, places, events, emotions, feelings, fears, traumas? “SAY THEM ALOUD OR STATE THAT YOU ARE DOING SO IN SILENCE”

As I wield the sword of surrender to symbolize the cutting of these cords – be they many or few – see in your mind’s eye the cords being swiftly cut with grace and ease, and then witness each cord being retracted into your being and simultaneously into the being or representation of what formerly bound you. As each cord recedes and retracts, send it with love and with gratitude, for each of those cords represented a lesson and a growth opportunity. Let that being or representative know that you are finished with this lesson, that you are no longer holding on, and that you wish them peace.

Space Holders Chant: And it all just falls away. And it all just falls away.

When s/he feels it is finished, dedicant says: “Thank you. It is done!”

As the sword of surrender waved through the air that surrounded each of us, it symbolically cut away our attachment to the stories of betrayal, abandonment, abuse, unworthiness, not-enough-ness, unlovableness. We cut the cords of mental illness, of addiction, of perfectionism, of estrangement, of drama, and poor choices we’ve made, as well as those made by others which caused us suffering and turmoil. We cut and cut and cried and cried.

And when everyone had been freed from these bonds, I became “Someone’s Priority” once more, and the words were spoken and the sword was wielded for me.

Suddenly, as the work was done, I was surrounded by the embrace of this Tribe. This marriage of old and new had become one in the understanding of our sameness.

We can never look upon a single human and believe that we know the perfection of their lives. Every one of us carries a burden, tied to a past of longing. We each long to be free from suffering, and often believe we are alone. We carry the shame in silence, because we fear the thoughts and expectations of others. And yet, it is through the sharing that we are able to witness our similarities, and it is through being truly seen that we understand that the only shame is what we ourselves carry. When we have the courage to share in a safe space, it is as if each person present lifts a stone that once pressed down upon us, and we are once again able to breathe deeply and rise into our wholeness.

I was so honored to stand witness to the severance of cords and release of these beautiful beings. With tear stained faces, each fell into my embrace, and I was so proud of the hard work they had been willing to do for themselves. I was teased for making them cry, and I replied that my work was done! I only think a movie was good if it made me cry – because it means that it managed to touch me deeply. And so it is with sacred ceremony.

And another intention upon my candle was harvested… PASSION. This work is my passion. Holding space for others to do the work of their own healing is my passion. Standing witness to the beautiful and painful truth of my beloved community is my passion. Knowing that they each feel safe, seen, heard, held, and loved… is my passion.

There is still a bit more to tell, but I am emotionally spent on this glorious memory. I hope you’ll come back for more. Thank you for walking this path with me. I’m so glad you are here.

Final Harvest

PART ONE OF A MANIFESTATION STORY

A year ago, I planted a seed. It was a morsel of a dream. It was a possibility of something new to me. It was a hope for manifesting a remarkable moment in time. It was a fantasy of retreat, reunion, respite. It was an ideation of a fruitful harvest. It was made manifest the first weekend in November, and I am still overwhelmed by the affirmation that we reap what we sow.

Last year I wrote about “The Long and Winding Road” that led me to my friends’ home on a mountain in Banner Elk, North Carolina. It was during that visit, as they were renovating a newly purchased house to become a home and bed and breakfast, that an inkling arrived. I mentioned that this would be a lovely place for a retreat, and the reply I received was, “I hoped you’d say that!”

So, at the beginning of this year, as I was seeing the possible future of facilitating workshops for a mindful journey through the wheel of the year, that would touch on our relationship to nature and the changing seasons, I booked a weekend for retreat in that beautiful mountain sanctuary.

At the time, I didn’t even know if anyone would be interested in attending the workshops, let alone a retreat that would come after an eleven hour drive. So, I made first mention to my distant Tribe. This is my spiritual family that was birthed at the end of 1993, with whom I share a deep bond that transcends time and space (years and geography). Over the decades, they have scattered to the winds, and it had been a while since we had gathered beneath one roof. The response was positive, so I figured I would at least host a Tribe Reunion, if no further interest was found.

I spent the year focusing on one season at a time, as I created a mindful journey for those who would attend my workshops. We started at Imbolc in February, which in the Celtic farming culture was when the fields would be tilled, debris would be burned away, and new seeds would be planted for a future harvest. We wrote down what no longer served us and weighed us down, then we burned it. We offered the ashes to a nearby garden for transmutation. We assessed every area of our lives and where we found the lowest ratings or least pleasure, we made a commitment and set a goal for improvement. We planted our seeds in the fertile soil of our hopes and dreams to be brought to fruition.

I really didn’t think much about what we would do next, until each workshop was finished. I knew there would be introductions to methods of grounding, mindful meditation, an introduction to movement, an art project or creative exploration, and sacred ceremony. The only firm plan I had for retreat was that it would be the first weekend in November, and the theme would be final harvest (thanks-giving for how we’ve grown this year), and Ancestors’ Night (remembering and connecting with loved ones on the other side of the veil).

In that first workshop in February, we crafted candles of intention. We wrote on the glass of seven-day-candles words that represented that which we hoped to manifest in the year. We would light our candles as a reminder of our dedication to turning dreams into reality. Onto my yellow candle (which was for the element of air and the solar plexus chakra – clarity of thought and taking responsibility for one’s life) I wrote: Laughter, Passion, Balance, Playful, Someone’s Priority, and RETREAT.

Here’s a lesson on manifestation, dear ones. Be careful what you wish for, because you might just get it. The thing is… it might not turn out exactly as you imagine. It might turn out BETTER than you imagined.

A part of me had hoped for love to enter my life. The kind that comes with a commitment, presence, and authenticity with a shared desire for togetherness. But as I lit my candle once more at the opening ceremony of my first RETREAT, I read these words and looked into the faces of those gathered, and realized… it was all here. This work is my PASSION, these people, my sacred gardeners, have delivered and shared LAUGHTER, getting to do this with others brings BALANCE to the priority of caring for my parents because it fills me up. Together, we PLAY with different mediums of arts and crafts that allow us to reconnect with an inner child or innocent version of ourselves. And just when I thought the one thing that had not come to birth was to have SOMEONE in my life who cared enough to make me their PRIORITY, I looked into the eyes of friends who have not missed a single one of my workshops, including a Tribe Sister who drives four hours each way every eight weeks, just to tend this sacred plot of land.

By the time all of the RSVPs had been sorted out, we had a party of twelve committed to making a journey into the Underworld. It was half distant Tribe and half Sacred Gardeners (some of which are both). Beloved beings traveled from Orlando, Tallahassee, Deltona, Charlotte, Colorado and Tennessee to gather in Banner Elk. It reminded me of the first time a group like this walked up the steps to my money-pit condo on a rainy day in December 1993, when I was 23 years old. It was a moment of excitement that was filled with hope. In fact, if I were to check the Tribe archive, I believe I would confirm the number that day to have been an even dozen. Further, that group was a merging of my two worlds at that time – those I’d met through a class on feminine spirituality and those I met through the young adult group at the Unitarian Church. Huh… I love that symmetry.

I drove up a couple of days early with my life-long friend, who is also my sounding board, and creativity partner. When I have an idea about a craft or art form to share in a workshop, she and I get together in advance to experiment and be sure it can be done in a reasonable time frame within my agenda. She is also my art-cation travel partner, and so upon arrival, after seeing off our amazing hosts who crafted my menu, did my grocery shopping, and pre-cooked multiple meals for our nourishing enjoyment (Talk about bountiful blessings! These friends had gone above and beyond in more ways than I could count.), we set to the task of turning this lovely home into a fall fiesta.

The two focal points were the fireplace mantle and hearth and the dining room table. We draped them both in gorgeous ribbon spiraling with autumn leaves and colors, and warm white faery lights. We removed amenities from boxes and tied them in ribbons. Each guest would receive a warm autumn throw in which to wrap themselves on these cold nights, a goblet adorned with swirling fall leaves with their names painted on the stems, and a handwritten note of gratitude for their presence in my life.

That night, after an eleven hour drive that began at 6:30am, we collapsed in a heap. We had the whole house to ourselves that Wednesday night, but as we’ve done since we were in kindergarten, we each took a half of the upstairs king bed and didn’t wake until morning. The next day would be a travel day and we would welcome more friends from Florida.

There is so much more to tell, but this post already feels a bit long. I really want to tell you about what happened on Friday, when we performed a sacred ceremony as a special request for our beloved 80-year-old crone.

But if you can’t wait to book your own retreat in this divine sanctuary, I’ll add a link below. I hope you’ll join me later for a continuation of this unfolding fireside story. Your presence is the flame that lights my way. Thank you for walking this path with me.

https://www.facebook.com/thepointebandb/

Waves of Sorrow and Bliss

I have been feeling a little lost, as of late. Oh, I’m doing my usual routine… wake early and marry a quote to a photo for some kind of inspirational and positive message to share with others, get out of bed, make coffee and check in on the world through social media, then check on Pop to give him his pills and feed him breakfast. But then, I come home and… that’s kind of it. I feel as if I should be doing more with my time. I have managed to write a blog post or work on a mission statement to guide and support others (a part of the homework for a workshop I’m facilitating), and I’ve written a meditation for my upcoming Samhain retreat, but I am also sleeping… a lot.

More than one friend reminds me that I am grieving. Odd that one would have to be reminded. The day after tomorrow will be exactly one month from when I placed Morgan on my chest and held her for twenty hours straight, until she took her last breath, and I finally let her tiny sacred vessel leave my embrace.

I don’t necessarily feel that I’m thinking about it all the time, but I am certainly feeling her absence. I still open the door carefully to see if she is there to greet me and to be sure she doesn’t get frisky and try to dash outside. And every time I enter the kitchen, I look down to be sure she hasn’t magickally appeared behind me, so not to step on her.

If you have been here before, you might notice the quiet where her drinking fountain once trickled, but you might also still expect to see her in her favorite spot – at the window seat in the library. You see, I have not been able to bring myself to vacuum. The blanket and brush she and I curled up with on that final day, remains right where we left them. The tiny stool she would perch upon for tiny cat naps is covered in fluff. I know that normal people would have done this particular housework weeks ago, but I am not ready.

Today, my friend asked me to run by his house to pick up a package that was delivered. Morgan and I had stayed there for a few days at the end of August. I had been terribly stressed about taking her out of the house while work was being done – her safe place, but she surprised me. I let her out of her crate, in which she did NOT wet herself from anxiety of travel (for the first time ever), and she explored my friends’ home with curiosity and without fear. I would come back from checking on my parents and enter the home to find her napping on the third step up the stairs. It felt as if we were taking our first vacation together. It’s a nice memory to have between us.

As I drove to my friends’ house, I thought about our little vacation, and that spot upon the stairs, and the tiny tufts of white fluff that I meant to return to vacuum up, but then… she died… and time stopped and sped up, all at once. I think I lost days in my consciousness. I considered going inside to see if I could find any signs of Morgan within, but decided against it. My next visit will have to be when the boys are back with their three pugs, because two houses without Morgan is just too much emptiness to bear.

Another friend lost her beloved Mother this week. It was such a rapid decline, I can imagine she must feel a strange combination of shock and relief. The diagnosis which explained a drastic and worrisome change in her behavior this summer, was a brain tumor which had previously worn a costume of Alzheimer’s Disease. Once the curtain was dropped and the truth was revealed, her Mother was placed in the angelic care of hospice and transitioned peacefully within a week. A blessing, I believe, when the brain and body are no longer communicating effectively. My friend has been very ill for the past two weeks, and I hope that she is finding comfort in healing, and peace in the knowledge that the one she loves no longer struggles with that conflict.

When her Mother went to hospice, I adapted the Phowa Practice from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying for she and her husband to recite throughout transition. If you are willing, consider saying these words aloud to help this sacred soul along her journey.

Adapted from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying

It is such an odd thing, the way that a being goes from being physically in your life everyday, to being completely absent in an instant. We are left to fill the void they’ve left behind, and yet our minds cannot fathom bridging that chasm. I think that’s what this feeling must be… this strange space of going through the motions without getting much done. We are in this cat shaped hole, or mother shaped hole, without a clue as to how to fill it, so that we can climb back to the surface.

Here’s the thing, though. I love the darkness. As we move into the dark part of the year with waning daylight, I welcome the cloak of Mother Darkness to wrap me in quiet, in peace, in introspection, in healing, in comfort, even in alone-ness (which is very different from loneliness), for this is where transformation resides. When we who grieve are ready, we will fill the holes our loved ones have left behind with the light of joyful memory, and when the time is right, we will emerge from the darkness – renewed. The sorrow and the bliss will be woven together, as is life, and we will don our new cloaks of love-cherished with a sense of pride and gratitude for the love we were so blessed to know, and the love we are still blessed to share.

So, if you come by for a visit any time soon, expect to see some white fluff about. For now, it reminds me of her terrible absence, but it also reminds me that she was once here. And I won’t stop listening for her tiny voice. I was certain I heard it this morning as I stepped into the shower.

Finally, we have signs in our neighborhood that warn about urban coyotes. In fact, my two neighbors with cats who have been outdoor cats (by choice) for more than a decade reported they were both lost within weeks of each other. Every time I see that sign, I think of how lucky I was to hold Morgan right through to the end.

It rained all night last night, and when I walked out to my car this morning, I saw paw prints on the sidewalk. They were larger than the usual suspect (I have seen cats, opossum, and raccoons in the area), and I gathered this was the closest I would get to a coyote sighting. So, of course… I looked it up. And here’s what it says:

The coyote spirit animal makes itself known when you feel like you have lost your way. The coyote symbolism signifies the answers to your problems that often come in ways and forms you least expect.

Perhaps I have lost my way, for a little while. But this is temporary. I am sitting with the silence and honoring this moment. If I look for her in my mind’s eye, she is everywhere all at once. She is in the library window seat and she is in the kitchen. She is marching up the steps to my bed and she is right next to me on the couch. There is evidence of her on every surface, so I know that she was just here. When she’s ready, she will climb back onto my chest to purr, and I will wrap her in my cloak of love-cherished and new beginnings… and perhaps we’ll take a nap.

The art of Freydoon Rassouli is featured in Alana Fairchild’s Rumi Oracle. This image reminded me of the cloak that is currently on the loom in my soul.

Letting it All Fall Away at Autumn Equinox

Yesterday was my sixth workshop in a series of eight that are inspired by the changing seasons of the earth and the cyclical nature of our lives.

I’m making them up as I go, and once I finish one workshop, I start ruminating on the next, hold myself open to receive inspiration, and then wait for things to fall into place.

The title of the workshop was obviously shaped by the activity that moves the season, the changing colors and falling leaves. Twice in my life I received this very message channeled through two different sacred vessels. The first time was in 1999, during a drawing down the moon ritual with my Tribe. The message I received was to “open up and let a piece of you fall away.” The second time was in 2005, when I sat next to a medium at a Broadway show in NYC. The message that finally hit home was, “All you have to do is fall in love with yourself and it will all fall away.” That set me on a path to learn to love someone I had loathed. I had to cut the cords attached to a false belief planted long ago.

One of the themes that recurs in these workshops is that we move through a constant dance of gathering in and letting go. Since one of my Sacred Gardeners had mentioned a resistance to the idea of having love in her life again, after losing her beloved to cancer two years ago… inspiration was found. We knew that her wife would want her to find love again, but that the way she felt was likely connected (corded) to her own vow of loyalty and dedication. So, our task for the Autumn Equinox was clear… to cut some cords and let them all fall away.

The first step, is to identify the cords we carry and to whom or to what they are attached. The following is the meditation I wrote to lead us toward discovery.

MABON CORD MEDITATION

In the tarot, the Death card symbolizes change or transformation. It reminds us that everything changes… one season passes into another, the mother becomes the crone… without the dying leaves, we would fail to witness the rich beauty of autumn, which briefly awes our senses with a multitude of colors and textures before each leaf falls to the ground, transforming into rich fertile ground that will feed the roots of the tree from which they’ve fallen.

Throughout our lives, we come to our own autumn season – when it is time to reflect on the beauty and the darkness of what has gone before… to honor those moments and lessons, to give thanks – even for the darkness (for it has shown us the light), to let them gently fall away, and to prepare for what is yet to come. Remember that once the leaves fall from the tree of life, there is a period of rest, followed by the surprising POP of new growth, so vibrant and stunning, stark contrast from the nakedness of dormancy, that we cannot help but celebrate the utter joy of new life being presented.

Before we are able to witness the freshness of spring, like the trees release the parts of themselves which no longer serve them in original form, we must let go of what we have carried far too long. We must take the time to review each wound, each situation, each trauma within our personal history. Then, we can choose to drop the hurt, the heartbreak, the diagnosis, the disappointment, the false identities, and let them all fall away.

So, lets go deep for a moment and see what we can find. Find your comfort and close your eyes. Breathe in the light of love, and exhale apprehension. Inhale the warmth of love, and release the tension your body is holding. Fill your belly with the divine breath of life, and push out any worries that keep you from being fully present.

Now, picture yourself in the center of a lush forest at the peak of Autumn’s full color. The trees that surround you are diverse and precious, just like each of us. They send their roots deep into Mother Earth, and we follow their lead. The roots of our feet reach into the earth below and glide downward through rich soil, through quenching aquifer, beyond the protective crust and into the molten core. We feel a surge of strength and warmth rise up from this sacred place, as it fills every cell of our bodies with a golden glow of healing light.

From above, the sparkly white light of all that is falls gently upon your crown, and you open to receive the light of wisdom which easily flows into you, spiraling and mingling with the golden glow from below. Your entire being is alight with insight and inspiration. And as the light expands outward from your body, you become aware of ethereal cords that are coming from the trees that surround you, and are attached to your being. How many can you see? Are there many or few? Are they radiant or dull? Are they different colors? To what parts of you are they attached? Are they pulling at your heart, like past betrayals by others, or worse… unfortunate moments when you betrayed yourself? Are they pulling at your sacrum, like false or limiting beliefs about who you really are that were planted by the accusations and expectations of others? Take some time to recognize, acknowledge, and name the people, the experiences, the moments that allowed you to give away your own power, to accept something less than what you deserved, to be harmed by another – physically or emotionally. See the cords that have left you fearful or insecure, feeling unsafe or not good enough. Are they attached to a parent, a teacher, a childhood bully? As you follow the cord from where it is attached to your body, follow the sight of it as it moves through space and into one of the trees that surrounds you. Now, allow that tree to take the shape of the one who is corded to you.

Know that you are completely safe in this sacred space, and that you are well-grounded within the earth and protected by the light of truth. As you look into the eyes of those to whom you are corded, consider what you have learned from this connection. Take a moment to speak aloud what comes to mind. How have you limited yourself through this bond? How have you grown? {long pause}

For each cord you find coming from your body, follow it to a different tree, a different wound, a different situation, a different experience, a different person… and address each one with clarity and confidence. Realize that you have grown stronger with each insight. [long pause]

Now that you have identified what has bound you and held you back from expansion and forward momentum… feel your spirit lifting with a sense of lightness. Turn to each tree standing around you, bearing a cord that moves through you, and thank it for the lessons learned, for the protection each wound may have built, for the kindness you learned to offer others because you didn’t want them to hurt as you did, for the caution you learned which might have prevented future harm. Let each know that you are grateful for these moments which once bound you or propelled you, and through that cord that comes from your being, send the healing light of love and wish them well. And as that light reaches each tree in your circle of cords, which looks something like a web, witness each tree losing its leaves, as they change from shades of green, to red, to yellow, to brown, and allow peace to come as each leaf floats gently to the ground. Know that what goes to ground becomes fertile earth from which you will grow more fully into the divine being you were always meant to be.

So here’s to the coming of autumn… to the beauty, to the sorrow, to the gratitude, to the slumber, to the waking, and to the rebirth. Gather it into a great big cushy pile and fall back into it. Bury yourself in the memories… and finally… emerge with a smile, brush yourself off, and move forward… into the light.

When you are ready, open your eyes and return to this sacred circle.

As we emerged from the meditation, a few Sacred Gardeners shared that they were surprised to find so many cords and to discover multiple layers. They spoke of cords that were attached through generations of a family line. I led the meditation and my focus was on holding space for others, so what I shared was what I had first learned about cords from an intuitive life coach a few years ago. She could see that the circumstances of my first adult relationship kept me tightly bound to the man who had cheated on me while we lived together when I was twenty. There were at least ten cords that she could see, and though I had once been a skeptic of things I could not see with my eyes, I could easily identify the many attachments I had carried for nearly thirty years.

Attached to that betrayal was a belief that I could not trust men, that I could not trust myself to choose well, that I did not deserve the loyalty of a man, that I was not worthy of being loved, that I was undesirable, and a whole host of other bullshit that just got heavier and heavier each decade. As soon as I was alerted to the presence of these cords, I set to the work of severance. So, I wrote a ritual to help my Sacred Gardeners to do the same for themselves.

SEVERING THE TIES THAT BIND US TO THE PAST

Here we stand in sacred circle, in which we dwell in perfect trust. Healing light surrounds us and sustains us. Here we are held with love. We stand firmly planted with roots sown deep. We are connected to the core of Mother Earth and we are protected by source energy which surrounds us and flows through us.

We call upon creation, the energy of all that is, great spirit, god, goddess, universal light energy, elementals, spirit guides, ancestors, animal totems, angels, the energetic source that is all we are, all we see, all we feel, and all we imagine and cannot fathom.

We each stand confident in our intention of cutting the invisible cords that keep us tied to the past, to unhealthy relationships, to false beliefs, to fear based thought, to physical, emotional, and spiritual traumas that hold us in a state of wounded protection – and we ask for your presence, your guidance, and your support in safe and complete severance.

All that you are, all that we are, and all that is beyond our imagining – we bid thee hail and welcome.

Each Gardener stands in center of circle addressed by the sword of surrender:

Are you ready, willing, and able to sever, release, and retract any and all cords attached to people, places, events, emotions, feelings, fears, traumas, and unknown and unseen forces that bind you and keep you from living fully present and in joy? “I AM!”

Do you who are holding space in this sacred circle offer your loving support and positive energy toward the safe, healing endeavor of our dedicant, for her highest good and for the good of all? “WE DO!”

Do you wish to name aloud or silently those people, places, events, emotions, feelings, fears, traumas? “SAY THEM ALOUD OR STATE THAT YOU ARE DOING SO IN SILENCE”

As I wield the sword of surrender to symbolize the cutting of these cords – be they many or few – see in your mind’s eye the cords being swiftly cut with grace and ease, and then witness each cord being retracted into your being and simultaneously into the being or representation of what formerly bound you. As each cord recedes and retracts, send it with love and with gratitude, for each of those cords represented a lesson and a growth opportunity. Let that being or representative know that you are finished with this lesson, that you are no longer holding on, and that you wish them peace.

Space Holders Chant: And it all just falls away. And it all just falls away.

When she feels it is finished, dedicant says: “Thank you. It is done!”

Once each dedicant has released and severed their cords, we all circle up for a healing chant. As we sing, we each visualize a golden healing light sparkling over the surface of our bodies, as the opening within our energetic beings which carried the cords are healed and sealed. As we chant, we can see our own healing, and we pass our energy clockwise around the circle to assist with the healing of others – as we receive the same from them.

I am a circle. I am healing you.
You are a circle. You are healing me.
Unite us, be one.
Unite us, be as one.

We offer our gratitude to creation, the energy of all that is, great spirit, god, goddess, universal light energy, elementals, spirit guides, ancestors, animal totems, angels, the energetic source that is all we are, all we see, all we feel, and all we imagine and cannot fathom.

We walk in your light and feel your presence even through darkness. For the purposes of this healing circle, we bid thee hail and farewell.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. It is done, it is done, it is done.

There is nothing like standing in a circle of women while being held in loving intention. As I symbolically swung the sword to sever the cords for each of my Sacred Gardeners, I was focused on the freedom and liberation of each. I noticed with the circle’s progression that I could sense a tingling energy against my upper arms right before she announced that the work was done.

When the circle was complete, some announced an immediate lightness of being, feeling a sense of sitting taller and feeling lighter. It was glorious to witness such an immediate affect.

Once we had cleared the field and created an open space for more goodness to enter our lives, we set to the work of attracting what comes next.

What comes next for me is a good night’s (or morning’s ) sleep… so that part of the tale shall have to wait for another day. Thank you for walking this path with me. I am so happy to have you near. HAPPY EQUINOX!

The Love of a Good Cat – Part 3

Every joint in my body aches this morning. I cannot get them to relax. That would require informing my body that she is gone, and that there is nothing left to hold onto. Perhaps it is my empathy out of balance, and rigor has set in, like the rigid nature of her sacred vessel that I carried in for after-care as soon as the doors opened, five hours after she left me. Like three times before. “Can you please help my baby get to Greenbriar?” (the crematorium for pets)

Yesterday was an excruciatingly long day. I left her for only moments, to tend to my father a few doors down. Otherwise, there were only a couple of times that I let her escape my embrace.

She had stopped eating, and the medication the doctor gave us didn’t help. My home looks like triage, with failed attempts to save a life scattered everywhere. IV fluids hang on a hook next to the couch, a syringe with water to stave off thirst on the ottoman, six different plates and bowls on the floor offer unconsumed food remnants that begged for an appetite. “Okay, how about filet mignon? No? Then, let’s try scrambled egg with your favorite cheese. No? Well, how about…”

I spoke to her doctor that morning, and learned that though she had delivered peace to two of my darlings in years passed, she could no longer bear to be the bringer of death. She referred me to another, who happened to be out of the country. So… the Universe had spoken. We would be doing this the old fashioned way. With patience, with reverence, and with so much love.

So, I gave Dad his morning meds and served him breakfast and informed my parents I would not be back unless they needed me. I walked in the door, and she did not run to greet me. So, I ran to greet her, instead. I picked her up and returned her to my chest, where we would remain until the end.

When I wrote about my experiences with death last year, as a part of a death doula curriculum, I introduced my readers to Morgan. She came to me six years ago with her brother, Arthur. He died tragically four years ago, and since then, Morgan and I have lived a peaceful and mindful existence.

She blossomed when he left us, for he had been the alpha cat (I guess). He was a bit of a bully, really, and I hated that she was submissive to him. She and I fell madly in love in those days that followed, and I’m not sure I have ever known a more kind and gentle soul than she. She would greet me at the door upon entering, and when I would pick her up, she would place her paws on each side of my neck and rub her cheek against my nose. She would mark me for all to know that I belonged to her. I was her human.

She would wake me in the mornings by climbing over me and settling next to my face for my cat tongue facials, which I referred to as Morganderm Abrasion. I would turn my face to be sure she didn’t miss a spot. If I didn’t rise by the time she was through, she would walk over me to stand behind me and poke me with her paw until I gave in. She didn’t always have an empty plate, either.

Morgan had grown thin over the last year following some kind of stroke like event that left her with a slight head tremor. This is when she seemed to forget how to drink properly from the fountain, and she would dunk her head beneath the running water. I would see her with ruffled brow, and slick back the water in her fur to help her with a little impromptu bath. There was a change in the sound of the falling water whenever she did this odd bow, and I heard that noise prolonged the day before I knew she was leaving. It was my portend of what was to come.

As she lay in my arms, nearing her final breaths, I scrolled through photos of when I first brought her home with Arthur. I couldn’t believe how full she was. I nicknamed her my Squishy. In the mornings, as she stood at the corner of my bed, I would lean over and envelope her with my arms and bury my face in her fur, kissing her cheek a hundred times. I could hear her protest, as if to say, “Oh, mother. Too much love. Give me more.”

She was 17 pounds after a year in my care, and this year… she was down to 7. I could feel her shoulder bones the way that I feel my father’s shoulder bones, and I can see how we are at times larger than life, and as we near the end, our bodies let go of old baggage. Perhaps it makes us easier to care for, the lighter we become. It was an odd thing to stop worrying about feeding each too much, to start wanting them to eat more of anything that might add weight.

It is a mean thing that nature does to us, to bring into our lives such sacred beings who don’t get to stay very long. Six years was not enough Morgan for my aching heart. I need a hundred more!

She was my comforter through so much loss (Arthur, the boss who loved me, my former identity). And now my only comfort is knowing that I served her well. I loved her completely. I held her tiny, sacred being in my arms for nearly 20 hours. I was her doula as she transitioned from my world into the light of all that is. I instructed her on where to go and who to look for, and I asked forgiveness for the things I failed to do because I did not understand her language and couldn’t see what was going on inside that precious water-soaked head.

Morgan came into my life when her elderly owner could no longer care for her. It was three months after Nightshade died, and she had been with me for 19 years. My only regret, is that I was not ready sooner, for I could have had more Morgan and more Arthur, and my life would have been even richer.

I know that I will rescue again, and without a doubt, I will be rescued in return. But first, I will take time to sit in solitude with my sweet angel kitty. When she shows up, I don’t want to mistake her energy for that of another. She was given wings at birth, you know. Morgan was a Turkish Van cat. Their distinct markings are a mostly white body with ears and tail of orange or black, with a spot between the shoulders that is called the Mark of Allah. Morgan’s mark was a pair of orange angel wings. She lived with purpose and fulfilled her mission. And she has taken flight… returning to the light of truth.

Oh, how blessed we are to be chosen by these furry beings of love and light. They were given the power to dispel darkness, and they so freely share their magick with us. This truth is what encourages us to break our own hearts over and over again. We would dwell in the dark without their light. With that kind of love… everything is illuminated.

This ache is all consuming. I wonder how long it will stay with me. My muscles and joints feel as if they are still holding on. I guess I must get to the work of letting go. As I said to her, “It’s okay to let go. You are safe. Mom’s not going anywhere and she will miss you every day of her life, but she will be okay, too.” Into the light of truth, we go…

Witness to Grace

A High King Ascends to the Summerland

It was 45 years ago that my favorite tomboy entered my life. She brought with her a lifetime of creativity, play, laughter, joy, and sharing. She has shared many vacations with me, of course many memories, and significant to this tale, she has shared with me… her beloved family.

On Thursday, my life-long friend and I hopped on a plane to Huntsville, Alabama. I don’t believe either of us, while envisioning which path to take on our annual art-cation adventures, would have chosen this particular place as a destination (two progressive feminists went to Alabama…), but after this past weekend, I can assure you that it will be a part of future road trips.

Nearly a decade ago, my buddy introduced me to her cousin through facebook. Their mothers are sisters, but they did not grow up together, so it was a family reunion that brought them together as adults. And through connecting online about family heritage and sharing memories, they found like-minds in one another. Further, my friend could see in her cousin… a bit of me.

It’s funny how we are able to connect through writing and sharing on social media to find something much deeper than words and photos. Somehow, if we are really lucky, we manage to find communion. Not one person I met over the past four days felt like a stranger to me.

The reason for our journey north was one of pilgrimage. We arrived with open hearts and serving hands to honor the memory of a soul who departed around this time last year. Once again, he was a man that neither of us had the pleasure to have met in person, but through this sharing medium and from the heart of this lady that we love, he became legend.

Our kindred spirits were partially connected through common ground… A spiritual path, a world view, a love of ancient history and myth, and for the Emerald Isle, where we had both previously traveled. Connected by the web of life and the world-wide-web, we shared photos and our stories. Then one day, the story took a dark turn. Her husband suffered a life altering spinal injury in a car accident, and the lives of many would be dramatically affected through an epic journey of survival for the next seven years.

Being so far away, the best that my life-long friend and I could do was hold space and send the light of love, healing energy, and our desire for the very best possible outcome for this gentle giant and those he loved. And when his earthly body was ready to surrender his larger than life soul into the light of truth, we committed to being fully present to offer support and to celebrate his life. After much needed rest and recovery, and with the nearing first anniversary of his loss, it was time.

Looking back on the weekend I just left behind, it seems funny to consider how we walked into this woman’s world and felt immediately at home. Though they are cousins, my favorite tomboy only has memory of meeting in person this daughter of her mother’s sister once. Any previous meeting would have been at an age before memories were kept.

Since I have had front row seats in her life, those we met and the lives they discussed as they reviewed memories and tales of their individual and shared histories, I never grew bored, for even those I had never met were characters with whom I was familiar. After all, I had partially grown up in her home with her people, too. Amidst the connectedness, the laughter, and the enlightenment (as blank pages in family awareness were being filled), we prepared for the celebration to come.

Last year, as I studied the path of end of life doula, I was instructed to consider this part of dying… how do I wish to be remembered? If I were to write my own memorial service, what would that look like? I have to tell you… these people… they know how to throw a party! I may write an addendum to my own parting plan.

As our hostess went to the airport to fetch her sister (friends at age eleven, who became sisters when one’s mother and the other’s father fell in love and married), my buddy and I were given the task of putting together one facet of the table decorations. We laughed at how perfect it was for us to receive this assignment. Lovers of Mother Earth, the party planners had collected earthen pottery and lichen laden sticks of oak for table center pieces. We delighted in examining each limb and cooed over the sweetness of tiny green tufts of fluff that called these fallen twigs home. “Look at this one!” “Awwww… so cute.” “Which one do you think will go best with this taller stick?” “This one! NO. THIS one.” With smiles of agreement and sighs of adoration for these tiny bits of beauty, we gleefully completed our first task.

Later that night, we were given our second task. We went to the home of our dear one’s best friend. We became acquainted around the same time as our initial facebook connection, as a nod to those kindred details mentioned above. We were immediately smitten with our new/old friend and her magickal home which was filled with creative wonder. I brought with me a meditation I had written, which felt appropriate for grounding and connecting for the work ahead. It was a guided visualization to journey to the edge of the underworld to meet with loved ones lost. We went home with bits of plaid cloth to unravel, for the art of fringed edges. These tiny details would be woven into a stunning tribute.

The next day, after coffee and a bit of unraveling, we were delighted to be delivered and guided through a local treasure, Lowe Mill ARTS & Entertainment. To our surprise, we had wandered into an impromptu art-cation! Our mystical guide led us through rows of interesting and wonderful art galleries throughout three floors of market space. We got to meet several artists, and had a bit of a shopping frenzy with one artist who WOWed us with the beauty of her work. We also got a sneak peak at a bit of art in chocolate that would be a sweet focal point of the celebration. Handcrafted chocolate truffles sealed with a kiss from our sacred celebrant. His signature was pressed into a crowning coin of chocolate (like sealing wax on an important royal document), then dusted with gold. Seriously, this man must have lived well to have been so loved.

That night, we gathered with more family and friends in the home that had been prepared for his comfort, though he died just days before the planned move, they had hoped to ‘come home’ to a space outfitted for the many needs of a paraplegic. We met people whose names we had seen attached to loving comments on the page that we watched with dedication for the hopeful delivery of miraculous news, which sometimes offered triumphs and finally… heartbreak. We did not know their faces, but we knew the depth of their devotion. These were the ones who never left, even when things got hard. They served in every way possible, a man whose body was broken and his wife whose courageous heart moved through back-breaking days and sleepless nights to ensure his safety and survival. These people whom we were blessed to meet, exceed the definition of friendship. Over a seven-year saga of trial and tribulation, losing a home to the burden of medical bills, packing and moving more than once, not to mention all that goes into supporting the needs of someone whose body no longer can do what was once expected, a loving community encircled this sacred family and did whatever was needed to allow them to focus on the important work required.

Then, the big day arrived. Together, we went with new friends and (re)claimed family to meet and dress the sacred space that would hold the intention of honoring this sacred soul. My favorite tomboy and I loved getting to be a part of nurturing the vision dreamed up with great detail by this group of goddesses. Onto each round table went a black cloth that draped to the floor, a grey square of felt topped by hand-fringed flannel in green, black, and grey plaid, with an earthen vase of moss covered sticks encircled by seven white candles and a ring of green and white sea glass. As we worked on the tables, another friend arranged homegrown pale green hydrangeas for the altar, and smaller clusters were added to the stick vases.

There were so many delightful details involved in this mindful manifestation. There was a sweet slideshow of a life well-lived projected onto a freshly painted wall, which was to the left of the altar which held rich fabrics adorned with a huge arrangement of hydrangeas, his glasses and watch encased in a dome of glass, a white candle – a beacon to call his spirit home, and a shot of Irish whiskey as a sacred offering. The altar sat beneath a portrait of Himself, painted by a friend after his passing. It depicted a scene captured in a photograph during their journey to Ireland, when he stood regally upon the Hill of Tara, where the High Kings were once crowned.

We lunched and rested, then returned to the venue to greet the guests. A trio of musicians enchanted the hall with Celtic music and Irish folk songs throughout the evening. And once those who had gathered in memorium had settled in with snacks and beverages, we learned more about the man we honored. The evening’s emcee was a friend who had searched, purchased, and literally furnished the home of her friend, whose energy went entirely into enforcing the safety and well-being of her husband until his final day. The Huntsville Feminist Choir performed two songs dedicated to the memory of one of their biggest supporters. Friends and family members stood up to speak about a man they respected, admired, loved, and deeply missed. Energy was raised in laughter, as we learned of pranks and puns. Everyone in the room was brought to tears by the words of gratitude expressed by one of his final caregivers. She told us of how she insisted on giving his family a much needed break – despite his protests, and as she bathed and nurtured his body, he fortified her esteem and encouraged her efforts to further her education. As she lifted her eyes to the heavens and announced to him the educational grant she just won with gratitude for his support, our eyes released the emotion we’d all been holding.

This last tribute reminded me of my dad’s stay in rehab last year. He told me about one of his attendants, who recently immigrated for a better life. She had been worried about an English test she would have to pass to move forward with her education to become a nurse, and Dad had offered words of encouragement and to help her practice. The day he told me the story, with tears in his eyes, he was announcing that she came in to tell him she had passed the test. I know that we all hope to feel like we’ve made a difference in the lives of others, and I know that the man we honored that night would have been enormously proud of his caregiver, and he would have understood the multitude of ways that he made a difference in the lives of many.

Though we never knew him, my favorite tomboy and I got to know him through stories shared. Most of all, we understood his strength of character, his warmth of compassion, his generosity of kindness, his wicked and wonderful sense of humor, and purity of integrity through witnessing such grace in those we got to know, whom he loved.

At the end of the evening, we gathered into a circle and raised a parting glass, filled with a shot of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. The Celtic Trio played that well-known tune as we held up our offerings of remembrance and respect. We held sacred space for his devoted wife, still weary but growing stronger, his three heartbroken and adoring sons, two by birth and one by choice. We held space for his grandchildren and family present and those who wished to be there, but could not. And we held space for this remarkably loving and supportive community who held this family in their safe keeping through many difficult days and years, until peace was found at the High King’s crossing into the Summerland.

“Here’s to cheating, stealing and drinking. For if you cheat, may you cheat death. And if you steal, may you steal a maiden’s heart. And if you drink, may you drink with me!”
~ Irish Blessing

We shared another day of restful togetherness before my life-long friend and I got back on the plane to come home. It was a surreal parting, for we had come to feel as if we belonged there, among these remarkable and loving souls. How special, for a woman in her grief to make us feel so welcome and at home. Of the lifetime of memories that my favorite tomboy and I share, I am certain that this holy weekend when we were witness to true grace, will remain one of our favorites.

Somewhere in the conversation of these four days, I reminded her that I intend to go first, for I cannot fathom living a single day without her. How lucky am I? To have been given the profound gift of her friendship, and that she should share so generously with me the honor of knowing and loving her family, too.

At 1am, I walked into my parents’ home, having come straight from the airport. I emptied my father’s catheter bag and helped him into his pajamas, gave him his evening pills, stood with the spit cup and the rinse cup while he brushed his teeth, and made sure all of the doors were closed and locked before making my way up the street to my house and my waiting cat. As I climbed into bed, I reflected on the years of service our cousin/friend had devoted to the man we had just honored. I smiled with gratitude for the blessing of being able to do the same for my parents (wishing that I could do so as well as she), and for the love and devotion of our own community who are presently holding space for all of us. We are so blessed.

Thank you for walking this path with me. I’m so happy you are here. If I could, I would share one of those intoxicating truffles with you. Cheers!

Ed Glynn (pictured here: on the Hill of Tara) has taken his seat among the High Kings in the Summerland. We honor his memory. We give thanks for the many blessings he delivered to this sacred earth. A warrior among men,
we bid thee hail and farewell.

First Harvest – Lammastide

On Saturday, I led my fifth workshop in a series of eight. I’m making them up as I go, but they are inspired by the cycle of the sun and ever changing seasons marked by the calendar of the ancient Celts.

The beginning of August marks the halfway point between the Summer Solstice (the longest day) and the Autumn Equinox (when day and night are equal). In farming cultures, this was when certain seeds (like wheat and corn) we planted at Imbolc (February) had grown to fruition and were ready for scythe and bundle.

It is from this tradition the song John Barleycorn was originally sung, which tells of a symbolic sacrificial king. We harvest most to sustain us through the coming winter, but some must be returned to the land to ensure next year’s harvest and survival.

Steve Winwood performs Traffic’s version of John Barleycorn Must Die

This reminds me of how we, as caregivers, simply cannot give every bit of ourselves to others. We must hold back something that remains ours alone. If we give it all away, whatever will we grow next year? How can we bake bread to nourish ourselves, if we have already offered every grain for the benefit of others?

Since I spent last year studying death and dying, this felt like the perfect timing to begin the discussion of death. My goal was not to dive into fear and sorrow, but to overcome it.

The one guarantee we are given at birth is that we will also die. And yet, many of us fear that eventuality to the point of denial. Loved ones pass with or without warning having never discussed the topic of inevitability. And those who remain are left in their greatest moments of shock and sorrow to guess what those they held sacred might have wanted to occur when their bodies were left behind and their light returned to the collective.

So, I shared with my Sacred Gardeners (my workshop attendees) the story of my friend Brian. His confession of a terminal diagnosis with metastatic prostate cancer last February inspired my year of study. I told them of how I asked him: “Brian, you’ve been given a deadline. What is your joy?” And how he went home to think about it, nearly died when a trial treatment started shutting down his organs, and then texted me his answer a week later. His husband is his joy!

Throughout the year, we talked about making arrangements that would free his husband from the many tasks that would overwhelm him upon the loss of his love. And in September, when the cancer spread into lymph nodes… we discussed how he could make living in his joy his main focus and priority. He had been working because he figured he needed the health insurance, but his prognosis promised care through hospice. So, he informed his job he would be going out on disability and has been living his days to the fullest, ever since.

Brian did everything he could do to ease his own transition and to prepare his husband for the easiest possible survival through grief. Now, there is nothing left for them to do, but to live more fully with joy and intention.

Since I like to offer a meditation or grounding technique at the start of each workshop, I chose to share with my Gardeners a meditation I wrote to be a part of my own farewell ritual to be performed when I am gone.

In the visualization, I ask those who are mourning my loss to offer me their burdens, that I might take them away with me – so that they no longer need to carry such heaviness. And when they opened their eyes (and some wiped away tears) I asked them to write those burdens down and drop them into a ‘box of surrender’ that I had previously crafted.

Each of us spoke these words: “I surrender this burden to the light of love. I know that all is well in this moment. I trust that all shall be revealed in divine timing. “

Those burdens will stay in the box until we burn them at the Winter Solstice, but I can imagine from the words of introduction shared by each as the workshop began, that we are all carrying heaviness in our hearts that no one can imagine at a glance.

Next, I handed out copies of the Florida approved form for Advance Directive, a handbook on making end of life decisions, and a sample of the ‘Five Wishes’ document, which offers suggestions which are helpful when one cannot imagine their own end of days.

We talked about what is important to consider, and about what we’ve experienced through the loss of those we have loved. We found comfort in knowing that when we carry an umbrella, it rarely rains. And so we understand that once we have done the work to prepare for our peaceful ending, we have nothing left to do but to be like Brian, and live more fully in our own joy.

After lunch, and after sharing the deep discussion of death and dying and preparedness, we moved into the creative / artistic portion of our gathering. Everyone decorated and dedicated their own boxes of surrender. Tosha Silver refers to this in her book Outrageous Openness, as a ‘God Box’. The idea being that we get nowhere by worrying over what might be coming, be it something we want or don’t want, and that having a tool for release can be liberating. Some would say: ‘Let go and let God’, but some of us are less comfortable with the term, and so we offer our fears, our hopes, our burdens, our concerns to the light of love.

I provided wooden boxes, already primed, with paint, glue, glitter, and various bits and gems so that each Gardener could put into this ‘intention’ their own creative energy. Let me tell you, they are works of pure beauty. When they open the lid to enter their handwritten worries, they are greeted by the words: “Surrender to Love”, and “Resolved for the Highest Good in Divine Timing”.

My hope is that my beloveds will acknowledge that which weighs heavy on their hearts, honor them, and then lay them down with the knowledge and belief that, all is well in this moment (which is all we really have), and to rest in the belief that everything will be okay (even when answers don’t arrive on our preferred timetable).

It was a long and wonderful day. I stopped in to check on my parents and Mom reported ‘another’ mass shooting being reported Saturday evening. And on Sunday morning, when I went over to set them up for the day, Mom said… Melissa, there was ANOTHER mass shooting. At first, I thought she might have forgotten she had already told me. But then it sunk in. Two mass shootings in one 24-hour period. Another harvest. Another sacrificial king. Another tragedy to build on so many others, for which nothing has been done beyond inciting more of the same. Heavy sigh…

My book group met Sunday afternoon. We discussed how thrilled we were that though we read another book about slavery, it turned out to surprise us with the uplifting courage of two sisters who lived in Charleston, SC in the 1800s. Sue Monk Kidd’s The Invention of Wings WOWed us the way that her first novel, The Secret Life of Bees had done many years before.

My friend and co-worker invited me into her book group about 16 years ago to add diversity. So, as the only white girl in the circle, I had to bring up my curiosity for how my dear friends were feeling. My only burden is that of white privilege, and I feel overwhelmed by the blatant racism that is being spewed, celebrated, and even protected by the GOP. I can only imagine how my friends might be feeling, and so I inquired.

My friend who is black, but grew up in Barbados, it turns out, does not carry the weight of discrimination as one might expect, though she could tell a story of living in NYC and having a frequent caller stop calling after meeting her in person to discover the color of her skin. And my friend who is of Indian decent and grew up in England, remembers a child calling her family names as they exited a tour bus, but acknowledges that someone silenced the kid and they went on about their day. But we all cried as our friend, who is Latina and whose husband is black, told us of how she and her husband cried at the news of the latest massacre, and the manifesto that was revealed by the white nationalist terrorist before his shooting spree. We cried with her for the awareness that she and her beloved would be a target of such senseless violence. We cried for those who WERE the target of such hatred. We cried for all that feels lost to us in our beloved country.

After my book group selected the next book and put a date on the calendar, I hugged each a little tighter. Then at bed time, I wrote onto a piece of paper: Keep Them Safe, Stop the Violence, Deliver Peace, Comfort Fear. As I placed it into my own Box of Surrender, I said these words: “I surrender this burden to the light of love. I know that all is well in this moment. I trust that all shall be revealed in divine timing. Please let it be soon. “

If you’d like to read more about creating your own end of life plan and designating your own advance directive, you can find good information at this site:
https://www.nhpco.org/patients-and-caregivers/advance-care-planning/advance-directives/downloading-your-states-advance-directive/

Thank you for walking this path with me. Now, hand me your burdens and let them go. I will carry them away with me into the light of love.

The Weight of Grief

Today, I feel heavy. I feel it in my chest, as if I must push out every breath. I feel it in my joints and fascia. Everything hurts today. Even my fingers hurt as I type.

There has been news this week of a friend who lost her husband suddenly and without warning. His departure is tragically similar to the loss suffered by another friend, who is painfully triggered by these events. At the same time that this news arrived, I learned that my former work partner’s sixteen year old granddaughter has not been seen or heard from in four days (as of today). The presence of my sixteen year old grandniece, who is staying with me this week, brings this sense of fear and concern even closer to my awareness.

On top of this heartbreak is the continued witness of my father’s physical decline. Only seven houses away, I got the call yesterday that he needed help. He had fallen on the way to the bathroom, and mom was able to get the Indeelift to him, so that he could use the electronic device to bring him from the floor to a seated position, but he was not strong enough to stand from there, and they needed help.

I helped him to the toilet and while he was there, we checked his blood pressure. It was surprisingly normal despite not having taken the pill that is prescribed to elevate his low blood pressure, we suspect due to the trauma and stress of the fall and effort to rise. His elbow was bleeding.

When we got him safely back into his recliner, I gave him a handful of pills from his morning pill box and fixed him a bagel and coffee. His head was hurting, so I encouraged consumption of caffeine to wait for the tylenol to kick in.

My grandniece called from my house to be sure he was okay. She was worried that I’d been gone so long. When she arrived a week ago, she shared that she felt dad was depressed because he didn’t seem excited to see her. I told him about it later that night, when I went over to ‘tuck them in’ (how I refer to being sure their doors are closed and locked, and everyone has what they need before bed), and he seemed to become more engaged with each of her visits. They taught themselves how to play poker via a Youtube video, and I think he rather enjoyed winning, most of the foreign coins I had given them to use in lieu of poker chips, as he beat her at several hands. We are going to miss her so much when she goes home.

My soul-daughter stopped by for a visit this morning, and this month marks the third anniversary of her boyfriend’s death in a car accident. She was feeling anxious being back in town, where they had grown up together, and we spent some time talking about grief.

For me, when my father’s soul decides to leave this earthly realm, I will experience my most significant loss. We discussed the importance of this time that he and I have together, to get to know one another in a more intimate way. It almost feels as if we have only known each other on the surface for the past 50 years. Now, we have dedicated time to understand the deeper truths within, even if not on a conscious level. Lately, it feels like I’ve been getting to know his stubborn and defiant inner child, and I love him just the same.

My intuitive soul-daughter tells me that what I feel right now, this ache for the unknown future – a sort of pre-grieving, will be the worst part. She feels that as things progress that I will find strength to be present and serve each situation with grace. This part of our story will be an important part of my becoming. I hope she’s right about finding strength.

Sometimes I feel like crying, but the tears won’t come. I recognized the other day that I was feeling like I did when I was an executive assistant supporting my beloved boss through a very difficult time in our corporate history. I felt that I could not be away from the office, because it would be a hardship for her to feel unsupported. I had five weeks of vacation, but would only take time off if she went away.

Dad has surgery scheduled for the end of July. I feel the need for a break, but am struggling with the idea of being an hour away, let alone the ten-hour distance of the place that fills me up. And yet I know that I will be a better caregiver with that respite. Whatever his recovery may require, I will be stronger and healthier to be present for both of my parents, if I make my own self-care a priority.

So, I am nervously making plans for a mini-vacation. I had planned to take my grandniece north to see the fireflies, but it seems the universe is pushing me toward another solitary journey (she has to return home earlier than planned). I suspect introspection comes easier for me that way, and that’s where I do my best work… it is an inside job.

I know that my parents will be fine while I’m gone. At least mom says they will be fine. Dad says: “Speak for yourself!” I’m afraid he won’t take his pills each morning and night. I’m afraid he won’t ask for what he needs. They are both forgetful, and I’ve arrived some evenings and asked what he had to eat, and neither of them realized he hadn’t really had anything since breakfast.

I’m afraid he’ll fall and they will have trouble getting him back to his feet. I’m afraid of the fear and loneliness he might feel in the moments he realizes that I am not answering his call for help… and now I have arrived at the core of where we are. [pushing breath through heavy lungs]

Harville Hendrix says that our core wound of abandonment comes from the first time we cry out for our parents from the crib, and our cry goes unanswered. At that stage, we need our parents for sheer survival, not to mention all of the other good stuff they provide. That’s not to say that my dad needs me for his survival, but I certainly don’t want him to ever feel abandoned. His body is betraying him at every turn, and I don’t plan to contribute to that turmoil, if at all possible.

This also reminds me of the month that I cared for my grandniece when she was 18-months old. Her mother and grandparents had to be away, and she would cry if I left the room. I was painfully aware of the status of her feelings of abandonment, so I would carry her with me to the bathroom if she woke up before I’d had time for my morning tinkle. I would have done anything to keep her from feeling abandoned. Did I mention that empathy is my number one strength? Sigh…

If I am to practice what I preach, I will be sure to care for the caregiver. One of the many blessings of friendship is that when we are in need, those who love us will rise to our service. One friend has offered a beautiful space for my escape, and another has offered to stay in my home while I’m away, so that my parents may call and still have someone at the door within two minutes to offer support.

I have a candle lit as a beacon to bring my friend’s granddaughter safely home, and I am working on a ritual to support and nurture the transition of my friend’s husband who has gone too soon. I know that they, too, are feeling the loving kindness of friends and loved ones who would do anything to make everything alright again, and I am believing in the very best possible outcome for one and all.

An oracle card that crossed my screen today (from The Universe Has Your Back, reads: “I find a deeper meaning and personal growth amid the discomfort.” And boy do I feel uncomfortable right now. So many of us are suffering that it seems to be manifesting in tangible ways, be it body aches, troubled sleep, or a needed reminder to just breathe. Surely we are being encouraged to offer more kindness to ourselves and others.

The other message that rose today was Layla from Alana Fairchild’s Rumi Oracle. [paraphrasing] She informs us that in the darkness, there is the path. She urges us not to turn from it, but to sit with it… this lack of knowing. Anything about us that is untrue will be annihilated in this darkness. This darkness is essential for the appearance of the light that is on its way. She suggests that we welcome the darkness of our grief and suffering, and bear witness. We must allow the unfolding of the interplay of the darkness and the light for the enhancement of our own growth process, and here we shall also find joy.

Wouldn’t it be nice if growth didn’t have to hurt so much? If you find yourself walking through darkness right now, I hope that you know you are not alone. Take my hand, dear one. Together we shall bear witness to the darkness, and move forward into the light. Thank you for walking this path with me.

From The Universe Has Your Back Oracle Cards

An Early Harvest

My favorite tomboy sent me a text yesterday, “I wanted you to know, before you see it on facebook…” I held my breath and read on. Her nephew, the eldest son of her little brother, is dead.

You know… she and I have been friends since she was four, and every interaction we share takes me back to that moment in kindergarten, when I made a life-long friend. At the time, her brother was only three. I see him at that age, in my mind’s eye, moving toy cars around an imaginary track on the floor, making sound effects through vibrating lips – and then jump ahead 45 years to realize he will soon bury his 28 year old son. We were preparing to comfort one another through lost parents – as each gathering brings news of obstacles or decline, but never… this.

I’ve been thinking about how I will add the topic of death into my workshops this year, but it is not slated until the end of summer, when symbolically, we prepare for the first harvest and the dance of the sacrificial king. This year, our harvest has come early. The sun is barely at its height. The fruit is on the limb, but far from ripe. We are not ready. We are never really ready.

I did not know him, this young man – gone too soon, but I understand that for many years of his youth, he walked in shadow and wore the cloak of addiction, which kept him shrouded from his family’s love, until recently. He dropped the cloak through rehabilitation and recovery and walked into the arms of his family, and I know they will each hold this reunion in their hearts with gratitude, as they grieve…. the loss of a son, a brother, a nephew, a cousin, a grandson… and the death of hope. Hope was something they held onto for a really long time. The hope of peace and happiness for this beloved being. It may not have been a surprise a few years ago, but THIS was unexpected. Things had been going so well.

I studied death for a year, and I still struggle with knowing how to help. I am remaining connected to my favorite tomboy, ready to be of service to this family in which, I too, grew up – in a way. I am listening for her words of heartbreak (or rather – reading them via text, because speaking is just too difficult for her right now), and holding space for her sorrow. I know that I cannot make it better, but I can be present… and that is good enough.

I have pulled a few books from my little death library, and thumb through the pages for the comfort I seek to provide. My life-long friend is spiritual but not religious, and my resources are eclectic. From Starhawk’s Pagan Book of Living and Dying, my favorite words of comfort are:

BLESSING OF THE ELEMENTS
May the air carry his spirit gently.
May the fire release his soul.
May the water wash him clean of pain and suffering.
May the earth receive him.
May the wheel turn again and bring him to rebirth.

The second book for which I reach is The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche. There is so much wisdom here, but what draws me the most is The Essential Phowa Practice. The practice is meant for those of us on a path of enlightenment to be prepared at the time of our death to be received beyond the veil. I am adapting the words provided in Practice One to symbolize our prayer on his behalf.

Through the blessing, grace, and guidance, through the power of the light that streams from the embodiment of truth:
May all of his negative karma, destructive emotions, obscurations, and blockages be purified and removed,
May he know himself forgiven for all the harm he may have thought and done,
May he accomplish this profound practice of phowa, and die a good and peaceful death,
And through the triumph of his death, may he be able to benefit all other beings, living or dead.

May all who love this sacred being see him being illuminated and encased in this radiant light, as he is received with loving kindness by the embodiment of that which receives us and renews us. May all stand witness to the cleansing and purification of his negative karma, destructive emotions, and all that may have caused his suffering or suffering to others. May all see the light of his heart rise in rays of emerald green toward the golden light of compassion above him. As his soul feels the absence of all suffering with the gift of forgiveness, no longer held to the realm of regret, his being melts into light, and merges with the blissful presence. May all find peace as he becomes one with all that is.

Finally, I love this piece from Megory Anderson’s book Sacred Dying. It is attributed to an anonymous writer, found in Life Prayers from Around the World. I’ve seen it elsewhere in a reference to Saying Kaddish – a Jewish tradition for the dead.

“When I die give what’s left of me away
to children and old men who wait to die.

And if you need to weep
Cry for your brother or sister
Walking the street beside you

And when you need me, put your arms around anyone
And give them what you need to give me.

I want to leave you something
Something better than words or sounds.

Look for me in the people I’ve known or loved
And if you cannot give me away
At least let me live in your eyes and not on your mind.

You can love me best by letting hands touch hands
by letting bodies touch bodies
And by letting go of children that need to be free.

Love doesn’t die – people do
So when all that’s left of me is love,
Give me away.“

For this sacred family, and for that matter – for all who are suffering a loss that has come too soon, I hope that the good memories remain firmly rooted in the garden of their hearts, and that all sorrows, betrayals, regrets, and concerns unspoken are easily liberated from fertile soil, to be acknowledged, honored, and released – then tossed onto the burn pile to be transmuted and transformed into fertile new growth.

Sometimes, we can forge a stronger relationship with a soul that was too damaged to be reached in the mortal realm. May healing come to one and all, and in time… may sorrow give way to the gentle coming of peace.

I wish this story had a happier ending, and yet like all of us, the ending was the only guarantee from the beginning. I honor the story of this sacred soul – every difficult page and chapter, the triumph over addiction, and the final liberation. I rejoice in the freedom from oppression that now is his, especially that of his own mind. I stand witness to the melting of his body into the light of compassion, and know that he has found peace there. Amen. May it be so. Blessed be.

Reflecting on Fruition

Sometimes we plant seeds in our sacred gardens without any idea of what they might yield. What kind of seed is this? Will it grow up to be tall or broad? Will it bear sustenance or beauty? Will it be a vine that wraps around the sharp edges of garden wall, weaving lush beauty into a blanket of gratitude? When we dream of a joyful future, we may not always have a clear picture of what that should look like, but if we’re doing it right – we will take notice of the glorious ways it takes root in its becoming.

I’ve been starting each morning with a review of ‘this day in history’ of my facebook posts. It’s an interesting practice of mindfulness. It shows me where I’ve been and reminds me of how far I’ve come. Mostly, I look for a good quote that I may have posted as far back as ten years ago. It is my morning meditation, to take that quote and place it onto a photograph that seems to fit that feeling. I do it with an app on my cell phone while lying in bed, usually before 7am.

Today’s memories carried me back to two significant moments in time. Four years ago, I orchestrated the final retirement event for one of the three most important bosses I’ve been blessed to support. And six years before that, on this date, I was setting her up in the office of her predecessor, who had graciously stepped aside. He planned his retirement for six months later, to remain present to support her transition into a pretty big role. These two leaders taught me so much about respect and caring – as they cared for one another’s success, and as they each cared for me. As each departed for retirement, I was left feeling such a loss – it was like suffering the death of a loved one.

Here’s what I wrote on this date in 2015. “It is a strange thing… to be a personal assistant. Your whole world revolves around a person to whom you are not married, nor to whom you have given birth… and yet, their suffering makes you hurt, and their joy brings you happiness – and you would do anything to help bring them comfort and peace when they are carrying a great burden. When they retire, you are left with an odd mingling of emotions. Gratitude for the years that you shared, happiness for the life they will finally get to have with their family, and then there’s the loss. Is it like a death or a divorce? This person you’ve cared for every day, is suddenly gone… and while you know they are safe and happy, and in a good place… the hole remains. I sat down to dinner tonight with the boss I retired 5.5 years ago, and the one I will retire tomorrow… and thought to myself… NO WONDER I HAVE ABANDONMENT ISSUES! I have been blessed, indeed. Soon, there will be a Daisy shaped hole in my heart… but all shall be well.”

I think what I feared the most was that I would never find love again. I know that sounds odd when referring to one’s job, but truly… I felt valued, appreciated, and loved in my workplace for a really long time. Being single and childless, it probably made up for something I did not have at home. These two leaders represented my committed relationship for 14 years, and it was not unrequited.

While working with a spiritual life coach, when love was gone and I was trying to find joy in the workplace again, we discussed how it was time to learn to validate myself and love myself, rather than seeking it in my job. And when I wrote my list of what I wanted to manifest in my next work endeavor, I was advised against one item. I had written that one thing I wanted to manifest was ‘work life = love life’. She felt that I should be moving towards an intention of separating the two. But you know what? Once you’ve had that kind of joy in your life, it’s really difficult to settle for less. I cannot see the point of going to work every day, accepting that my heart will not be filled, and that my presence will not be appreciated. Life is just too fucking short!

At the Winter Solstice of 2017, six months after leaving that workplace I had once loved and cherished, I created a sacred ceremony that I shared with a friend I’d made while there. He lives at the edge of the Atlantic, and as a student of life, he is always open to the power of intention and the ability to manifest. We both sat for a meditation that I’d written and pre-recorded, so that I could journey, as well. Then, we wrote in silence, onto strips of parchment, the things we wanted to see coming to fruition in the year(s) ahead. We added tiny treasures collected on the beach to represent the beauty and magick that fills every day – if only we pay attention, and then we went out onto the deck to top off the bottles with evening breeze and starlight. There they would stay to gather the sunrise of new beginnings. I recently came across the notes I had made before we wrote on our parchment, and I was pleasantly surprised to recognize how well we had done. Here’s what I wrote:

This or something better…
Stability & Integrity
Colleague Camaraderie
Spiritual Enabler
Valued & Appreciated
Fulfilling & Uplifting
Joyful Abundance
Purpose & Meaning
Open & Obvious Pathway
Belonging
Peaceful Prosperity
Perfect Fit
Work Life = Love Life
Convenient Commute
Bountiful Benefits
Loved, Adored, Wanted & Needed
Better Than Imagined
For the Highest Good

At the time, I imagined I would go back to work for some corporation. That I would find an executive who needed my particular kind of light, as did the two I had lost in recent years. I couldn’t have dreamed what was to come. And here’s the lesson, dear ones. Put your dreams out there. Write down how you want to feel and what you want to manifest, but don’t be attached to a specific outcome. Let the universe surprise you!

You see, when I wrote this list and placed tiny scrolls of my hopes and dreams into that manifestation bottle, I thought I could only find these things in the form of a corporate job. I thought I could only prosper with a paycheck that would reflect how valuable I was to others. I thought I would not be as well-compensated as I had been, and that it would be difficult to ‘go backwards’ in income. And to be honest, I thought I would have to settle for something less than what I had before.

I suspect this list of desires will continue to evolve, but I can see clearly how all of these things have become a part of my current reality. I didn’t go to work for an executive in a corporation, I learned I could access a small portion of my retirement savings without penalty. That ‘income’ is only a quarter of my former salary, and yet it easily covers all that I need. So, I guess you could say that I am self-employed in non-profit organization. I am available and present to serve my aging parents who live seven houses away from me. So, clearly a majority of this list has materialized in my life. If managing and supporting my parents’ lives is my daily work – I have a convenient commute, purpose and meaning, bountiful benefits, and peaceful prosperity.

In the past year, my relationship with my parents has grown more loving and intimate. I certainly feel valued and appreciated, loved and adored. The workshops that I am creating and sharing with others are fulfilling and uplifting, as is the knowledge that each night when I close the front door of my parents’ home, in essence tucking them in for the night, they feel safer because I am there.

This current reality is ‘this and something better’ and ‘better than imagined’. As I move through my days with the energy I used to give to a corporation, I have room for more mindfulness. I can see the wonders that surround me, great and small. Yesterday, after managing some chaos for my folks, I found a tiny possom in the middle of our road. I looked around for her momma, but she was all alone. A nearby hawk informed me that she had been dropped, and I scooped her up before she became the meal she might have been. I carried her to safety, with a friend who cares for such creatures, bringing them to full health, then releasing them to their natural habitat. It felt like a blessing, to have been in the right place at the right time, and to have a resource available for a possibly happier outcome.

When I consider the symbolism of this tiny being placed in my path, I could consider what is written about being cautious (subjects of prey), or showing the world what I want them to see (playing possom), or a number of other possible messages from the universe. But what I find in the synchronicity of leaving my parents after helping them through a household inconvenience that could have been much more stressful on their own, and coming upon a tiny helpless creature who couldn’t see her way to safety… is ‘purpose and meaning’ on an ‘open and obvious pathway’.

Every day, I get to do work that is meaningful. I care for my aging parents and make them feel safer in years that feel more and more confusing. I care for my aging cat, too. As we struggle with her wellness, I wish she could express herself to tell me what she wants and needs, and I see the mirror of serving my parents… wanting more than anything for each of them to feel safe and loved. My work life does equal my love life, these days – and I am grateful.

I remain in touch with the bosses who’ve retired, and they are happy and healthy. What they taught me about how to meet their needs prepared me for nurturing the needs of my parents… my most important job, to date. It’s funny how we can’t imagine at the time the true purpose of our circumstances. Every life experience is so much more than what appears on the surface. If we’re really lucky, we’ll give ourselves the time to reflect and light a candle to honor such reverence and grace.

Thank you for walking this path with me. This flame’s for you.

Soulmates and the Wounded Healer

Tonight, the moon is full and Chiron, the wounded healer, is moving into Aries. I’ve been thinking about the role of soulmates in our personal journey. Contrary to the popular belief that a soulmate is the one person with whom you are meant to spend your life, my experience is far more broad.

A soulmate, to me, is someone who reaches into your soul to expose a deeper truth about yourself, to help you find your authentic self, to learn how to overcome your self-established limitations, a pathfinder or way-shower for your internal navigation system to grow and become who you were always meant to be.

While the idealized version of soulmate as life-partner may represent the one person who comes into your life to share it and to love you without condition as you grow old together, consider that perhaps that person who broke your heart at age 20 was also a soulmate. Maybe that unfaithful SOB was the catalyst for your lifelong journey to becoming your own best friend. A far more important role than spouse or partner.

What a glorious gift it is to review old wounds and declare those who made us feel abandoned or betrayed, hurt or angry, confused or lost, no longer mistakes and poor choices, but important and necessary life-partners, dedicated to the further evolution of our souls.

This acknowledgment changes everything!

It takes us out of the role of victim and into the role of student. Every ‘poor choice’, failed relationship, and deep regret in our lives is actually part one of our education in becoming. Part two comes when we recognize the patterns in our lives, as similar ‘lessons’ come around again. In other words… same soulmate – different skin.

One of the gifts offered to me by an intuitive coach I’ve worked with in recent years is learning to interpret the wisdom language of our bodies. We don’t have to be psychic to receive messages from our higher selves… we just need to be mindful of how we feel in our skin. She suggested that when we are feeling extreme emotions, that we consider if we’ve felt this way before, and what was happening in our lives at that time.

I believe the soulmate connection can be recognized in a similar way.

When we are being triggered by someone’s behavior, and it reminds us of a past wound inflicted by another… we may just have before us another soulmate. The key to healing is to acknowledge this trigger, and when you feel that you should cut this person out of your life, because they are sure to harm you as you have been harmed before… take courage, and stay!

I don’t mean to stay in an unhealthy relationship, of course. I mean to take this opportunity to stand up and speak your truth. Write or say aloud the words you didn’t have the courage or chance to speak the first time due to the depth of emotion involved. Then… allow the opportunity for a reply. If you recognize the response to be more of the same, by all means… cut and run. But imagine that the reply received is exactly what you needed to hear from your original offender? Whether this person stays in your life and honors your hurts and fears with an intention that heals, or if they have nothing to offer and depart with haste… by speaking your truth, you have won!

I once lost a friend because we stopped trusting one another. As an Aquarius, this does not happen to me often. I tend to collect friends from diverse areas of connectedness, and even when we are not close physically or emotionally, love and mutual respect and care remains a constant between us.

There were so many great lessons in this huge loss. They were at once excruciating and liberating, life altering in every way. We put each other on pedestals which brought one of us to a sense of shame which blocked authenticity and the other to heartbreak in the loss of truth and disappointment in herself for being deemed untrustworthy.

Since we have never reconciled I can only speak for my own regrets and gratitudes. I learned so much. For example, shame is the most destructive emotion there is. If we cannot trust those we love with our truth, they do not deserve us. And if we alter the truth to avoid disappointing those we love, we risk damaging the trust we once held. Also, pedestals are for art, not people.

As we were moving through this ‘break-up’, the feeling that overwhelmed me the most was confusion. It was as if my logical mind could not make sense of what was happening. I felt victimized the way a safe driver feels as the shattered glass comes flying in an accident that was unexpected and beyond her control. I was confused by my feelings of hurt, while understanding completely that the accident was caused by her own hurting. Meanwhile, the questions inside my head were so exhausting that I emotionally shut down.

I know that what I needed most was something she could not give, for the sheer overwhelm of her own circumstance. I needed patience and understanding through the madness, and devotion to rebuilding trust. The way that I felt and behaved helped me to understand the actions of others who have been betrayed or lied to by someone they love. It’s a kind of madness, really. That deep soul confusion that sets in when you realize that things aren’t really as they seemed. It is the ultimate identity crisis… as you begin to question everything to determine how you could be so unworthy of honesty. I did not like who I became with the story I had created in my head because of the information I had missed for its withholding. I loathe drama, and it felt like a soap opera from which I needed an exit.

Fast forward a few years, and I had grown very close to someone else with whom a situation had risen that made me feel confused in a similar way. There was no breach of trust or sense of betrayal, but most likely the fear of abandonment. Like I said… logic struggles to find the surface, but confusion just drags it downward. What was different was that this soulmate was able to offer what I needed to heal that old wound. She was patient and understanding, even when my fears were unfounded. She was steadfast and empathetic. She stood by me until I came through my dark night of the soul, and back into the light. She was my torchbearer. We have been blessed to take turns being the wounded healer for one another for the past seven years. There are no pedestals, though there are probably a few fluffy pillows here and there.

Recently, a perfect stranger triggered something from an old wound in a different part of my soul. At first, the way my body felt about this unsolicited conversation through social media was identified as a red flag. It reminded me of how I felt in an interaction with someone from years back that was a real disappointment to me.

Getting to know new people when seeking friendship or more can be complicated, and it is exacerbated when Chiron is in the 10th house of your astrological natal chart. You have learned to put the needs of others before your own. All you really want is to be accepted by others, and you might be prone to compromise yourself toward that endeavor.

At the point that I decided I would end this conversation – unwilling to be compromised, I received a reply. The reply invited me to speak my truth, and it was heard, received, and validated. What I learned, as I fearlessly expressed myself was that I was no longer seeking someone else’s acceptance. I have learned to accept myself. And so, another soulmate enters my life, if only for a moment, and lights a torch. In the golden flame’s glow, I can see my own reflection, and I like what I see.

There’s a whole crew of spirit guides illuminated by the love in their hearts for me and they are cheering me on. They know that each wound brought to the surface for treatment is finally able to heal. When we are no longer bleeding out, we break free from the ties that bind, and finally… WE RISE!