02/11/2024
In Asian mysticism, Autumn is the season of grief.
As the trees become more beautiful than any other time, they also release and go to sleep, into a dormancy that lasts until the sun comes back and the seasons change.
The Earth begins her descent into Yin, and in following Her & moving to her rhythms, I, too, go inward.
As Samhain marks and celebrates the darkness, I become more intertwined with my grief.
This intimacy began almost eleven years ago, and has evolved and morphed into something that looks entirely different than it used to.
My grief is no longer something I ignore
My grief is no longer something I hide from
My grief is no longer something I run from.
Instead, I shut off all the lights. I light one candle, and set a table with just two chairs.
I sit down, and across from me, sits my grief.
We share stories
We share a meal
We laugh
We cry
We remember.
My grief reminds me of the time when it just needed to be held by me, held and felt completely.
I remind my grief of when my heart just couldn’t do it.
Not before she was ready.
I speak of the time when finally, finally one day, I just decided.
I decided to go into my heart, to travel through its tunnels and its depths. I looked in the places that hadn’t been looked in, maybe ever. I cleaned the cobwebs from the corners, I swept the dust away, I lit rose incense and I sat and witnessed.
I witnessed all of the pain and hurt, that kept me disconnected from my true self, disconnected from God, and disconnected from the power and freedom that only comes when one can deeply feel & resource themselves.
I learned how grief can be blissful, how pain is a teacher, how sadness can make us brave.
I put up string lights, I unrolled jewel-toned rugs, set up comfy pillows, and I made an altar in my heart. An altar where I bow to my grief each night.
Each Autumn I am reminded of this choice. To never stray from the heart temple.
And I allow the darkness to show me the possibility that lives within liminal space.
