Grief is pouring out of me. The past few days have been full of grief, frustration, irritation, sadness, and weight.
Today, I dove into my root practice: Moving Meditation (see here for description). I’m doing the writing part now. I sat down to the keys thinking, “You’ve been holding it all for so long. You’re letting go. Why now?” Short answer: Peri-menopause. The gift of being a leaky, forty-something container that simply can’t hold more than the chosen ingredients anymore.
Life life-ing. There’s healing afoot. Apparently, I’m letting the darker aspects of my being rise up and out of my energetic system, unimpeded and free to float, rage, sob, wail, and evaporate. I hope. Please fucking evaporate.
It’s a New Year. The New Year doesn’t hit me in a day like it seems to culturally. It hits me in waves over weeks until there’s a clarity of renewed purpose, some goal-setting in the form of vision boards, post-it’s on walls, and quiet decisions about how to apply those choices to the calendar. Most importantly, there’s releasing what is no longer in the vision, on the wall, or a scheduled “to-do”. There’s grief in growth. Recognition. Using the discarded ideas left behind as fuel for the path forward. Quiet ignition of what I wish (for all of us) is a mighty flame. May our paths be long and well-lit this year!
I didn’t mean to write a New Year’s wish to myself, or to you. But, here we are. Apt.
Please open your arms wide and wrap yourself up in a deep hug. Thank yourself for being exactly where you are. Repeat it with the other arm on top.
Step boldly forward. And, when in doubt, turn. Look around. Begin again.