It’s 6am on Sunday January 14, 2018.
I’m sitting in my kitchen, with my coffee writing by candlelight. My favorite addition to morning routine this Winter has been to use candles for my morning studying and writing.
There have only been 14 days so far this year, and that really blows my mind.
I KNEW this ” between 2 full moons” January was going to be intense.
I had read some articles that warned, there is a celestial pull and a vortex of intensity with these moons and if you are at all sensitive, you will feel it. And since I am very sensitive to shifts in energy, moon and astrology cycles and other peoples emotions, I was paying attention.
The only thing that has provided comfort this month has been silence. I find myself craving it. I find myself turning off music and podcasts, things that usually inspire me and lift me up. I find myself walking the streets of my neighborhood, just wandering around, mostly in silence.
I find strength in the silence. I find the truth about life and loss and love and divine spirit, when I’m strong enough to be silent. When I’m not afraid of what I’ll find. When I trust myself to handle all that is revealed about our mortality, our relationships, our lives within that silence.
I went to see my healer when I got back from CT. I asked him to just clear out 2017. Clear out anything I was holding on to. He could feel in my body that something had shifted, there was a new cycle being born, a new cycle had arrived. I went home to journal about all the new cycles that are in my life right now, all the cycles that have ended and all the ones that are starting, but isn’t that every day really? Yes, I could be entering a new decade but also, each morning is that same new opportunity.
I find myself dancing between these realities daily now, the awareness that the present moment is all we have and yet, I want to plan for what’s to come. Aware that after almost 20 years of practices on healing, anxiety and being present with what is that grief, loss, illness, suffering is still hard. That nothing we do to learn about life or how to live a good one prepares us for the real lonely suffering that we experience when someone we loves suffers.
And so sometimes, even with my positive nature and my years of studying about how to relive suffering, life still sucks. There are no teachings or actions, no words and no to dos that can take away the actually human experience of suffering. We have to go in and feel it, let it be messy and wet and wild with no reason, for however long is has to be there.
And eventually, just maybe a little of it will lift enough for you to take deeper breaths.
For you to life your chin and for the heaviness in the eyes and the throat relax a little.
B/c our lives are these moments in between the feeds, our lives are the silence in the kitchen when everyone else is sleeping, our lives are the things we do behind the scenes of our curated days, the actions we take for ourselves AND for others. Our lives are curling up on the couch and having a little one come snuggle in with you and fall asleep for hours with nowhere to go and no one to be. And along side all that sadness, I’ll take the nap and the walk, I’ll take the hugs and the smiles that don’t have outcomes or results that don’t put anything in the bank account.
And as someone who teaches women about the joys of life, sometimes it really does just suck.