A Prayer For What's Possible
Sometimes? You have to burn it all down.
After you can no longer swallow the shards of glass that your life has become.
After you repeat the pattern for the last damn time.
After you finally find your way to a fresh new view from spiraling. . . upwards.
After you scream and spit and cry and stab the air with your finger demanding to know why.
When you find yourself pacing from room to room, only to realize you are spreading kindling.
When you find yourself festively gathering your beloveds, only to realize it’s a funeral.
When you find yourself crossing state lines, only to realize you are changing timelines.
When you find yourself exhausted only to realize you’ve never been more awake.
You don’t want to burn it all to the ground, but that is the only way to open the seeds of possibility.
Whatever you have built around you to create comfort will not stand the blazing fire of your wrath.
Just as you realize you have lost everything, just as you realize you have also lost the ground beneath your feet. . .
May your anger be without hatred. May your fierceness be tempered with wisdom and clarity.
May you continue to follow the hum of your intuition, even when there is no one left to sing to. May you still see, with your heart, when everything you thought you knew falls from view.
May the disorientation of waking up in so many different places melt into excitement about how many different places there are to wake up in. May each one be more beautiful than the last. May they be filled with warmth, even when they are frigid because of winter or lack of soul.
May you feel comfortable in your own skin, even when you don’t particularly recognize the body it’s holding together or the clothes you’re covering it with.
May the sun shine brightly during the days you are fighting for your life. May whatever needs to leave, leave out the back door, under the cover of darkness in the night.
May new names and places feel native in your mouth and in your heart. May your sore eyes rest upon new faces– of mountains, of soulmates, of clocks.
May you find the key to the lock on the box of your darkness, opening it to remember your truth.
May this light the way for the ones that will follow all because of what is possible.
When we grieve, our edges soften. Life becomes richer. Our relationships are more honest and real and nourishing. We’re better friends, neighbors, and lovers. We’re more willing to just be with what's hard, which is a lot these days. It’s a daily practice for me to be emotionally honest in the moment, and remain present with my experience. When I'm actually able to do that, my life is notably better. It can feel risky especially without much positive, integrated experience. Know that it’s always worth the risk to be a bold and loving and vulnerable person. Grieving allows for us to flex instead of shatter. Grieving allows you to feel less pressure and more freedom.
When we grieve, we keep the energy flowing. It doesn’t get stuck. It doesn’t create blocks. It doesn’t have the chance to become dense and create illness in the physical body, or in the mind, heart, or soul.
There are endless ways grief shows up in our lives: the death of a loved one, the anticipated death of a loved one, the loss of the kinds of things we dream of, ecological loss, feeling the pain of others, or simply existing on this Earth at this time.
Good Grief: Guided Sessions are approximately an hour long. No two sessions are alike. We take time to connect to what is on your heart and I listen and witness you as you are. Together, we look at how your grief needs to be seen, and co-create ritual and meaning to support you in your process. I provide energetic assistance, clarity, direction, and connection to the unfolding. You tend and nurture your grief.