It's like This Now

Life is full of unexpected twists and turns.  That is the one thing we can be certain about; the uncertainty.  It's Tuesday.  My day off.  I am writing this from my apartment in Hyde Park.  The air is muggy.  The seasons feel reluctant to change.  Winter one day, spring the next.  I had written an entire entry before this and it got deleted.  Ha, universe.  I know.  Non-attachment. I get it.  

So now, attempt number two, which will likely be a less raw version of the first because in my opinion, once the rawness is captured and written out once---the next time, it's likely to be a bit more polished, less jagged.  But, of course, we'll see.

My group of friends, my tribe---the original ladies I glued myself to when I moved here---my found family as I call them---have experienced a collective loss lately.  One of our friends passed away recently.   A man around our age.  Unexpectedly.  The news was an icy dagger. And now, instances of grief, grasping, anxiety, thoughts of my own mortality---of my loved one's mortality are very alive.  I called my mom shortly after and made her promise me to stay alive forever.  My little girl is full force steering the ship in these conversations.  I become 14 again, desiring to hide under my high school English Teacher's desk.  And, through all of it, an invitation to be together---to come into greater community to support one another.  And we will. And we are.

Loss is a strange thing.  It is so final.  In an instant, someone can just no longer exist in the physical realm.  It's baffling and almost too big to wrap my mind around.  And perhaps the mind is not intended to fully grasp death.  I get curious.  I have a desire to feel into my body more.  To get out of my thinking mind.  To let the process move through without justifying or labeling or creating a container for it.  It's clear that my body needs space holding just as much if not more than my mind.  I went to a restorative yoga class last night and it revealed to me just the important of stillness and having space held for me in a still, quiet space.  I fell asleep. Hard.  I dreamed.  I woke up to the final sounds of students shifting their way to a seated position.  I felt that on a deeper level, I had begun to create space to process.  And so, this will be my medicine for now.

I had written more before about life also.  About beautiful and exciting things happening in my life.  The inverse of death---the coming of spring.  But I want to leave it at process.  I want to hold the importance of receiving above all else.  It's what's ringing most true for me now.  Not accomplishments or happenings---more about creating space for what is without having to take action necessarily.  Be still.  Be you.  Be held. Fall asleep.  Don't. do. anything.

Until next week,