22/03/2022
"Grief feels like it will never pass. This brings us great fear. We worry that this house of sorrow will be our final resting place, that our days will always be overcast, gray, and dulled by the sadness we carry. We have the sense that we are on a slow walk with no obvious direction. Fortunately, grief knows where to take us; we are on a pilgrimage to soul.
It is challenging to honour the descent in a culture that primarily values the ascent. We like things rising - stock markets, the GDP, profit margins. We get anxious when things go down. Even within psychology, there is a premise that is biased toward improvement, always getting better, rising above troubles. We hold dear concepts like progress and integration. These are fine in and of themselves, but it is not how the psyche works. Psyche, we must remember, was shaped by and is rooted in the foundations of nature. As such, psyche also experiences times of decay and death, of stopping, regression, and being still. Much happens in these times that deepen the soul."
~Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow
I haven't had a lot of words to share here, since my mom's death. I've been taking time for my process. I'm learning that sometimes these seasons of descent last a lot longer than we'd like. I thought 2020 was my descent, but then it continued into 2021. And here we are in 2022, and it still continues. Deep, deep down we go.
I'm practicing letting go of timelines. Learning to honour the cycle of inner seasons. To tend to what arises in the liminality of descent. I'm not that good at it to be honest. I can vacilate between my collapsed child state and then my hyperfunctioning protectors. It's a challenging practice of tapping into my adult self with agency, capability and sovereignty. To hold these tender parts of me. The rage. The anxiety. The sadness. The fear. The shame.
To contain it all and ler it be expressed, rather than suppressed. And then to take action from Self, my inner wise one. Loss after loss has compounded at times and moved me out of my capacity. And then this is the hardest practice of all for me, not holding it alone. Being in community while the parts of me that have been exiled have surfaced. The unlovable parts. The shameful parts. It stretches my capacity.
Here we are again, but this time deeper. Deeper to the soul. Dancing with the grief. At first in tiny glimpses. And then as I practice sharing my inner environment with someone who's safe enough, more grief comes to the surface. And there's a sort of relief in that. Relief in that the movement means we're not stuck in what was feeling like depression. Relief, because I can feel my soul again.
And when I can feel my soul, there's more trust in the death and decay of this process. Because the soul can hold uncertainty. The soul rests in the questions. The soul can be with the unknown.
In his book, Francis Weller says we are left to interpret the times of descent as pathological, and can feel like we're failing because we live in a culture obsessed with the ascent. But what if the descent was a holy initiation to deeper being? To, as Weller states, the soul. What if we held reverance for the process of meeting our deepest pains and darkest shadows?