There is not a lot of energy small talk these days. I find myself at a loss when I get around other people. The normal banter and easy chit-chat that I usually conjure is silenced. I long for silence. Not lonely silence, even with someone by my side, the silence is so good that I am content to stay in it and just hold someone's hand. Like a Quaker, speech only comes if something rises up three times.
Surely there's a big, blinking sign above my head telling folks, "This Woman Is Dealing With The Greatest Human Sorrow Imaginable." It must be apparent in my eyes or in my demeanor that I have been so deeply wounded. Don't I look like the walking dead? I feel as if a big part of me is dead; so disconnected from the so-called "real world" that I just am not interested in all the usual things. My attention is continually drawn inward to where grief has rented all the interior spaces and moved in; my new constant companion.
The inner landscape is where the work happens.
Anyone who knows me knows that meditation is not my favorite thing. For the past three weeks, I'm compelled to sit so that I can survive. Meditation, or even just quiet contemplation, is a lifeline. I have a few of them at the ready - writing, walking, hatha yoga, eating healthy, doing something that results in something beautiful like art or cooking, smiling on purpose, dancing, burning incense, feeding the birds, family time with your dad and brothers. All of these lifelines are strong and are braided out of strands of love - the love that was exposed when the world shattered, that moment when your heart stopped and my heart kept beating. The unfathomably deep cut made by your death triggered a massive explosion of love that is now pulsating around the globe. I am cut to the very core of my being which hurts so badly that there are moments when I can't imagine living one more moment. I'm cut and I'm bleeding but when I really look at what is pouring out of me, out of this pain, it's love. That's what the heart is made of, you know.
Every day, I sit in the weather. The sun rises and I am here with my heart still beating and life being breathed in and out of my lungs, and I sit in the storm spun up by the pain of loss. The air is sharp with ozone, roiling clouds brood blackly all around and ripping winds tear at the tatters of my heart. All I can do is tether myself with lifelines and sit in this weather. Pain rises up and batters me, but still I sit. Agonizing and gruesome thoughts of your death haunt me, but still I sit. The resentment that you've been taken from me and that life is moving on without you seethes around me, but still I sit. Guilt threatens to toss me into a sea filled with monsters, but still I sit. The worry for the well-being of your dad and brothers prods at me to jump up and take action, but still I sit. Antsy thoughts that demand to know where I am going and when I'll feel useful to the world again tug and pull at me insistent that I move; that I do anything other than sit here with this pain, in this weather.
Still. I. Sit.
The weather will change in its own good time. The gaping maw of this agony looms and I gaze directly into its heart and I ask, "What is feeling pain? Who feels pain?" The answer is… I am a mother with a mother's heart. I contemplate that for a while. Yes, I am your mother. You made me a mother. And I love you dearly. I've loved you since the very first moment when I knew you were part of me. You, who are the child of my heart, the child of my soul.
The part of that statement that feels pain is "a mother with a mother's heart." I know this is true. I have the shattered heart to prove it.
The part of that statement that is Pure Peace is, "I am."
Is it possible to have a deeper understanding of who I am, really? Is the 'me' that feels all this pain the real me, the only me? Perhaps I AM is all there is, really. I AM, the same I AM that came to Moses, is so much bigger than this pain, this loss --this weather. I AM wholly encompasses everything; all the hurt, all the stories, all the drama, all the human foibles, all the potential, all the love. Everything. I AM is Peace - at all times.
When stillness settles in, even if the weather is blowing all around, I feel you, Thor. The love that is exposed and expressed so strongly since you died carries and sustains. It is here in the bosom of I AM and surrendered at the feet of God that the mother's heart will heal and shine again, bigger than before and brighter than the sun. Thought by thought, minute by minute, the only way to do this is to sit in the weather, tethered with Lifelines of Love, and pray for Grace to part the clouds.
I love you,
Mom
The inner landscape is where the work happens.
Anyone who knows me knows that meditation is not my favorite thing. For the past three weeks, I'm compelled to sit so that I can survive. Meditation, or even just quiet contemplation, is a lifeline. I have a few of them at the ready - writing, walking, hatha yoga, eating healthy, doing something that results in something beautiful like art or cooking, smiling on purpose, dancing, burning incense, feeding the birds, family time with your dad and brothers. All of these lifelines are strong and are braided out of strands of love - the love that was exposed when the world shattered, that moment when your heart stopped and my heart kept beating. The unfathomably deep cut made by your death triggered a massive explosion of love that is now pulsating around the globe. I am cut to the very core of my being which hurts so badly that there are moments when I can't imagine living one more moment. I'm cut and I'm bleeding but when I really look at what is pouring out of me, out of this pain, it's love. That's what the heart is made of, you know.
Every day, I sit in the weather. The sun rises and I am here with my heart still beating and life being breathed in and out of my lungs, and I sit in the storm spun up by the pain of loss. The air is sharp with ozone, roiling clouds brood blackly all around and ripping winds tear at the tatters of my heart. All I can do is tether myself with lifelines and sit in this weather. Pain rises up and batters me, but still I sit. Agonizing and gruesome thoughts of your death haunt me, but still I sit. The resentment that you've been taken from me and that life is moving on without you seethes around me, but still I sit. Guilt threatens to toss me into a sea filled with monsters, but still I sit. The worry for the well-being of your dad and brothers prods at me to jump up and take action, but still I sit. Antsy thoughts that demand to know where I am going and when I'll feel useful to the world again tug and pull at me insistent that I move; that I do anything other than sit here with this pain, in this weather.
Still. I. Sit.
The weather will change in its own good time. The gaping maw of this agony looms and I gaze directly into its heart and I ask, "What is feeling pain? Who feels pain?" The answer is… I am a mother with a mother's heart. I contemplate that for a while. Yes, I am your mother. You made me a mother. And I love you dearly. I've loved you since the very first moment when I knew you were part of me. You, who are the child of my heart, the child of my soul.
The part of that statement that feels pain is "a mother with a mother's heart." I know this is true. I have the shattered heart to prove it.
The part of that statement that is Pure Peace is, "I am."
Is it possible to have a deeper understanding of who I am, really? Is the 'me' that feels all this pain the real me, the only me? Perhaps I AM is all there is, really. I AM, the same I AM that came to Moses, is so much bigger than this pain, this loss --this weather. I AM wholly encompasses everything; all the hurt, all the stories, all the drama, all the human foibles, all the potential, all the love. Everything. I AM is Peace - at all times.
When stillness settles in, even if the weather is blowing all around, I feel you, Thor. The love that is exposed and expressed so strongly since you died carries and sustains. It is here in the bosom of I AM and surrendered at the feet of God that the mother's heart will heal and shine again, bigger than before and brighter than the sun. Thought by thought, minute by minute, the only way to do this is to sit in the weather, tethered with Lifelines of Love, and pray for Grace to part the clouds.
I love you,
Mom
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