Sunday, July 24, 2011

Grief: After Trance Camp

Aha.  I don't know.  How about that!  I have though learned to use the words - isn't that interesting?  and isn't that curious?  Isn't it curious that for the first time since Artie died coming to my apartment feels like coming home.  This is where I live now, by myself.  By myself with my husband's spirit.

Isn't it curious how it still feels so empty without him even though my heart is full of his love.  Breathe space around the emptiness.  What can I see when I make the space - the energy field - my imagination - whatever you want to call it - bigger? 

I came home a day early.  There were two ways of working.  One was in the center with the whole group and the help of the leader Stephen Gilligan.  The other was with the two people who were your "pod".  It was decided by lottery.  I got a blank piece of paper instead of a number.  I did the old dance.  Sadness, anger, acceptance.  Using my resources, my friends.  Using my allies to fight my demons.  Then when the next night I said rather loudly in the gratitude circle "Fuck you" I was embarrassed.  It just popped out - but I had to look where it came from.  It came from the place that now knows how to say "I don't have to except a blank piece of paper.  I deserve a number."  Even if I can't have one, I deserve one.  Not more than anyone else - but just as much. 

Things are confidential - but I did stay long enough to work with my pod and got terrific support.  Look with Artie's eyes through my eyes.  See what he would see.  See me as he would see me.  Let my light shine in the present.  Then I felt that I could no longer hold all the work that other's did without be able to get it for myself - in that way - so I came home a day early.  When I changed my plane reservation I could breathe.  I got a big hug from Stephen.  He understood how much I needed to work with him - and also that I didn't blame him for the blank piece of paper.  He was watching me and knew I was giving as much of my presence as I could until I couldn't give any more.

Practice.  Practice.  Practice.  Now that I am home, what will be my practice?  Will I meditate, will I write, will I tell stories?  Will I go back to sleep?  I don't know.  I always am gentle with myself my first day home.  I have made commitments to balance, to holding a wider energy field that lets in more joy, to life.  I have had people see my fierceness, my tenderness, my playfulness and my desperate crying.  How do we take this disruption of everything we hold dear and not let our gifts disappear?  I learned that privacy means depriving the community of your light.  How much time will I spend in the community - how much do I deprive myself by hiding? 

It's all questions right now but they are good questions.  What will I choose to be?  Who will I choose to be?  Will I live with intention, no matter what happens?  That, I think is the only way to defeat death - is to live with intention no matter how difficult it is.  For me, with space for breathing, crying, collapsing, but gathering together my warriors (which include my internal ones but also all of you).  Isn't that the best way to honor my husband - with living my life double - for him and for me.  With learning how to reweave connections even if I want to hide.  My animal isn't yet a tiger or a snake - but a turtle.  Turtles stick their necks out but sometimes they tuck them in again.  And yet...slow and steady wins the race.

I think maybe later I will write a poem.  That would be a good thing.

What is your intention; your gift, your light?  Can you absorb the shock of death enough to let it come into the world stronger and brighter?  Can you say to all the death threats (all the things that make you paralyzed, that make you freeze) - I hear you, I see you but I will not die.  I will live.  I will respect the wisdom of my refusals, but also never stop looking for past, present and future resources.  May we go on our hero's journey finding strength in each other.  xo

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