I thought this blog post was going to be about weed.
The instructor in my yoga class this morning was high as a kite and I giggled to myself, “…only in Colorado”. Then I felt a rip of almost jealousy “I would never be able to teach a class stoned… maybe I should try to repair my broken relationship with weed? I love SO much about it…”
And then I became present in my vinyasa and thoughts of weed and instruction from on high faded.
And then you came for a visit while I was sleeping like a pigeon.
The smell of your deodorant drifted past my nose for a second, a minute. It took me a few to pinpoint it. And when it hit me – I cried, uncontrollably, into my mat surrounded by sweaty strangers.
Seeing as this wasn’t the first time I’ve tasted my sweaty, salty tears while hanging in down dog or with the open heart of an exalted warrior (which made me cry harder!) – I was ok with it as one can be.
Truth be told, I’m most open when I’m on my mat. Open to my intuition, my power, my emotions and the knowledge that all things are exactly as they should be. It’s my church, my moving meditation, my mountain top, my altar, my silent soap box all rolled into one.
I’ve learned that when a strong emotion surfaces while I’m on my mat there’s a reason for it and I might as well offer it space to join me. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity to let it come thru, up and out.
The alternative is to send it back from whence it came. Under a pile of facia, trapped in pathways of rationalization my neurons are far too adept at recreating, back into the abyss.
I believe out is better. Even when it hurts.
But MAN does grief hurt. What a beast. Grief and I have gotten intimately acquainted over the last two years and I’ve gotta say – Grief is debilitating, powerful and RUDE.
Grief isn’t polite enough to make an appointment so you can make some comfort food, ready your tissues and prepare for battle. Grief comes in guns blazing when it’s good and ready, on it’s own terms.
Which is why arming ourselves against grief is completely pointless. And yet we do it anyhow because it’s literally the worst feeling.
Grief, loss, disappointment: it’s a chasm. When we pear down into it there’s a sense there is no bottom, no end to it, and no way around. So we fall arms and legs flailing, we surrender to the chasm. Yet over time, as we get more comfortable with the uncomfortable (this goes for all the uncomfortable feels, not just grief) – the free fall time shortens, and the frequency with which grief comes calling becomes fewer and farther between.
And still, today you came. After weeks, months of uninterrupted silence, you came. And today I was able to receive the valuable lesson you’ve offered me, probably 37 times.
No amount of reminiscing, merry-making, tears, laughter, time, wine (or weed) can convince the heart to let go of what it’s not ready to release.
You reminded me today that there is more. More to be released, more to shed, more to be honored, more to be grateful for and more to remember.
You came to visit me today.
It was heart-opening to feel your spirit so close to me again even as grief rudely infiltrated my yoga class, oblivious to it’s lacking invitation.
And I’m thankful. Thankful to have gotten to the place where the pain is deep, yet quick – so I can actually access gratitude in your visit, your scent, and of course the wisdom you brought with you. The wisdom that grief brought.