Morning Meditation - Comfort is Near

 Morning meditation™️. Comfort is but a thought, a breath, a meditative moment, a prayer away. ✨

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Healing Morning Extra - Grief Process

 Healing Morning Extra™️. For my family, 10 years have passed, which is as difficult to reconcile as the loss itself. If today, or any day, is an anniversary of loss for you, I wish you peace and comfort. Pax Tecum ✨

#HealingMorning   #PaxTecum  #Grief  #Sadness  #Loss  #LivingThroughGrief  #Love

Morning Meditation - Seek a Greater Peace

 Morning meditation™️. Some wounds make no sense, and may never fully heal. In these circumstances, seeking peace greater than the pain is the only action I know to engage. ✨

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If...and if....

photo:  www.paleospirit.com

If I reveal the fractures
                       deep and ragged
will I still breathe?

                                    If I remember
              sweet spring fragrance
will the memories remain?

If I touch
                           the deep well of loss
             will I drift endlessly?

         Ticking echoes
of an empty clock

                If I linger
tasting acid tears
                              will I heal?

If I laugh
                       finding small pleasures
           will I betray?

                                                 Grains of sand spilled
                               marking where
the time chord snapped

                                   If I recall
                                              hands reaching down
will I be lifted up?

                              If I see
that smile shining
              am I letting go?

        tether broken
                             spirit set free

                     If I hear
wisps of laughter
                       will I lose that precious note?

                     If I gaze
                                            at incredible talent
will it become flat and empty?

If I hold
                     arms open
will there be a return?

         If I rest
                                                     will surcease
                        prove ever elusive?

If...and if...
                     and if....

a torment
                                   and a comfort

                 Twining and swirling
insubstantial

All suspended
                    echoing...                

.....the ifs...

                                  Hammering against
      transparent boundaries

fleeting....
              and quickly gone

reflecting what?

                                  If...and if...
and if....

               ...and if...again....
_______________________________________

The poem above is the first thing I've written and published here since December 28, 2012.  That stretch of time is the longest I have gone without writing here at Healing Morning since I created the blog in 2009.  The reason for this silence?  There are many.  Holiday insanity, seasonal commitments to parties and events.  Work encroaching; personal relationships demanding time and attention.  Most importantly, I needed time to absorb and address the loss of a family member who left us through suicide in the summer of 2012.

If you follow my blog, you may have read some of the articles I wrote about that loss when it happened. (Sad Weathering, 7/5/2012, Healing Morning).  For those of you who may have gone through a similar loss, then perhaps you know that processing the emotions and finding a way through to acceptance is a lengthy process.  I'm still working on that.  I am not sharing this poem and these thoughts to indicate that I am still dwelling in that immediate state of shock and sharp loss.  I have healed a great deal.  The thoughts shared today encompass all those doubts and questions that we inevitably confront when we lose a loved one to suicide.  In my healing process, I have allowed the thoughts to come to consciousness so that I could absorb, understand and release them.  During meditation, during prayer, during random moments, they will resurface and demand further contemplation.  And healing continues.

We continue.

Today, December 14, 2012 is a very sad day in the history of the United States.  In the town of Newtown, Connecticut, a young man walked into Sandy Hook elementary school and opened fire in a kindergarten class, killing children and going on to kill several adults throughout the school.  He also committed murder at a separate location. As of a few minutes ago, the death toll had reached 20 children and six adults dead.

Social media swept the story across the world in mere seconds, giving rise to typical and inevitable accusations, theories and debates.  I experienced a true level of frustration at the fact that the debating and arguing began before those slain have even been given over to their families to begin the mourning process.  I find that part of the whole thing to be shameful, distasteful and disrespectful to the memories of the ones slain and to the integrity of the surviving loved ones.  Now is not the time to raise squabbling and ranting about gun control, or how the United States should be able to manage this type of insanity more efficiently.

So, how do we get through this type of tragedy, when it is so overwhelming and so senseless?  It tears at the heart in a particularly piercing manner to know that 20 wee lives were extinguished.  Young ones who had their whole lives ahead of them, going to school, innocent and deserving of protection and an inalienable sense of safety.  Six adult lives extinguished who performed a noble task daily, teaching young ones and stewarding them through each calendar year.  It is beyond human ability to comprehend, to absorb.  Yet, we do it, somehow.

We do keep living through the trauma moments, as well as the fallout and recovery of it all.  Through the doing of what needs to be done, we keep living through it.

There is also a level of Grace that occurs in the midst of this type of trauma.  We shift into a level of auto-pilot reality where we are somewhat removed from our bodies and emotions.  It's a protective mechanism, what shock does to our body and our mind, our reasoning.  I can clearly recall the thoughts that run through my mind at such a moment, when I have been faced with a tragedy of such enormous proportions that have stretched my ability to respond.

*Please know that these thoughts are not meant to undermine, or compare to, the incredible grief that the families of the ones slain today in Connecticut are experiencing.*:

"This can't be happening."  And I keep living through it.

"This isn't real."  And I keep living through it.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this."  And I keep living through it.

"I don't think I can do this." And I keep living through it.

"I can't believe I'm doing this."  And I keep living through it.

"This doesn't seem real, now that I'm doing it."  And I keep living through it.

"I can't believe I made it through that." And I keep living after I've done it.

"I don't know how I got through that." And I keep living after I've done it.

"I don't know how I'm going to keep living, now - the pain is still so overwhelming."  And I keep living through it.

"Looking back, I have no idea how I did everything that needed doing during that time."  And I keep living.

This is the unquestionable beauty of the human spirit, that we continue.  Despite all manner of crippling tragedy, we continue.  These human forms that house our Spirit slip into a mechanical state to allow us a buffer, and this is how we continue.  In a numbed state, on automatic pilot, guided by the kindness and love of those around us, if we're fortunate and blessed.  Lifted up by the equal kindness of complete strangers.  A simple touch, or a smile, or a task done without our asking.  A quiet moment where we are received and embraced and allowed to be in our raw grief without judgment.

In the coming days, more details will surface as to the motives of the young man who committed this unspeakable crime.  Endless debates about gun control will reign ad infinitum.  Discussion about mental health and the failings of our healthcare system will also jockey for position in the media.  Sensationalism, unfortunately, will also race at the head of the pack, spewing out needless details that do dishonor to the name of the media.

For now, in my opinion, it is a time to look to what...to who...is most precious to each of us.  If you are reading this and you are safe, secure, well fed, reasonably healthy, have a roof over your head and you are loved, take a moment to dwell in prayer, if you are so inclined.  Pray for the lives cut short today; pray for their loved ones as they navigate the unthinkable process of accepting what has occurred.  Pray for the young man who was so lost and confused, filled with unexplained rage to the degree that he chose this action.  Just pray.  Love the ones who mean the most to you.

Speak your love to them daily, because the one sure truth that we know is that tomorrow is not promised to any of us.

Speak your love, while you are given the blessing of time to do so.

Faith in the waiting

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

— T. S. Eliot, poem, East Coker

This snippet from T.S. Eliot was on my Facebook page recently, and I've returned to it several times over the last couple of days. It has prompted me to ponder deeply, and when I do that, I tend to process through the pondering better when I write the thoughts out.

At first glance, the words above appear negative and self-defeating.  Wait without hope, wait without love.  What is being expressed, though, is to shift our thinking.  It is more of existing in that moment....that space between exhaling and taking the next breath.  Just being there in that suspended fraction of time as we mark it from a human perspective.  And doing so without expectations.  Without Ego attempting to plant a flag of victory.  Much easier said than done, yes?

2012 has been a year full of self-discovery for me.  It's been a year of extremes, in fact.  Some moments so beautiful that they pierced my heart and left a permanent mark of equal beauty.  Other moments so painful, so wrenching and final in this corporeal reality that they left a different permanent mark....a jagged tear in my heart and soul.  I've grappled with these extremes and somehow, survived it all.  We do that, don't we.  We survive. 

It should be noted that surviving the beautiful moments can sometimes be just as challenging, if not more so, as the difficult moments.  

Those beautiful moments...the positive experiences....they can be scary.  They can show us a possible reality that we have dreamed of, wished for, planned for.  The potential manifesting of that reality can throw us off kilter and the common reaction can be panic.  I know this is a truth for me occasionally.  And therein lays the pitfall of expectations.  How we want Life to be.  How we want Love to be.  How we want Work to be.  How we want Health to be.  

This year, I've been confronted with releasing expectations in several very important areas.  And really, what that boils down to is releasing control.  *gasp*  I know, sounds crazy to most of us.  Believe me, I'm not a fan of that concept, releasing control.  Ego leads the race for most of us in that regard. Yet, I am a logical being, and I accept that enforcing rigidity can stifle growth. So, I've continued that refining of Self within the context of those vital areas, and I've recognized where I need to do more work.  It's a curious process, because I do tend to be quite aware of my own psychology, my own emotional patterns.  This year, however, ushered in a life experience tied to another and that relationship produced experiences and a mirror that reflected repeatedly, challenging me greatly.

Right now, I'm in a holding pattern in regard to these several vital areas.  That requires a good amount of patience and as mentioned above, faith.  Releasing those expectations, releasing the desire and urge to step in and marshal the troops, draft a plan of attack and take no prisoners.  Given that I tend to be a person of action, the living in that suspended moment for long periods of time can be downright painful for me.  I'm doing it, though.  How long I can do it, and equally important, how long I should do it, are always the big ticket questions, but I've surprised myself with how deeply I've been able to process, and how patient I have been able to remain.  

There is a limit for all of this, of course.  Nature abhors a vacuum, and we cannot exist in eternal limbo in any facet of our lives.  Eventually, entropy fills the proverbial vessel with water and it spills over, causing reactions and change.  Usually, when I feel myself beginning to chafe and buck the confines of being patient, God/Universe/Spirit will send a reminder such as the T.S. Eliot passage quoted above.  It reminds me to continue to breathe through it, to not allow the frustrations to win the day.  Is that easy?  Absolutely not!  Being patient in certain areas of my life is one of my biggest challenges.  I have learned over a lifetime, however, that attempting to force time and a given situation to speed up to match my personal measure always, always brings me much more grief than is necessary to experience.  

So, there is faith in the waiting.  There is change of a positive nature in that suspended space between breaths, between heartbeats.  My heart is gentled in the process, and my capacity to adapt is broadened.  That place of waiting…in my mind's eye, it is painted in images that are difficult to describe, but I hover there.  The essential part of me, my very soul, inhabits that in between space where the beautiful and the painful, the positive and the negative all combine to weave new harmonies for me.  I envision those harmonies, delicate, liquid threads that dance and entwine with the harmonies of others to produce as yet unknown realities.  Fabric to clothe my soul as it returns to my body, just before the next breath is inhaled, before the next heartbeat sounds.  I return changed, always.  Stronger at times; definitely more thoughtful.  Aware that the path will play out without the necessity of me knowing the complete mapping.  My job is to keep taking that next step and doing so with faith that I'm heading in the proper direction.

There are areas of my life that require action and forward momentum.  It is clear, however, that the loosening of the limbo stage hasn't yet manifested.  Perforce, I remain suspended.  I suppose that one of the best courses of action is to simply enjoy the view.  That just occurred to me.  Beauty exists in the act of waiting.  I'll have to turn that one over in my mind for a bit.  It will certainly keep me occupied and distracted for a wee!  So, here is where I stand, for the nonce.  Surveying the view and breathing in the quiet.  Absorbing the peace in the waiting, and greeting Faith as it keeps me company. 

2012 shaped me in innumerable ways.  I tasted joy countless times, and it was balanced by the bitterness of grief, repeatedly.  Confusion reigned supreme more than once, as did uncertainty.  Because of this lack of stability, the only thing I knew to do was just let it be.  Allow the chaos to play its natural course, and believe there was a purpose to it.  I have yet to see clarity in all areas where it is needed, but I recognize the method at hand.  Similar to cleaning house, you first have to create chaos and a jumble of items before you can begin to pull everything back into order.  I imagine that something similar is occurring during this limbo stage.  Order is being gathered and it will fall into place in proper, Divine timing. There have been some abrupt endings that I did not wish for, but they were necessary.  Again, Divine Order at work.  And I have grown as a result, finding strength to deal with those endings, and doing so alone.

Mindful stillness; this is what meditation and yoga encourage.  Being in that breathless moment and feeling the immediacy of the feelings.  Entertaining change in a positive manner, rather than seizing up in denial or fear.  Admitting that my preconceived notions are limiting and that not knowing what the next breath will produce, this is the most receptive space I feel I can inhabit.  Faith in the waiting.  

Holiday stages

*I wrote this original post in December 2009.  I find that as we move into the winter holidays, practically everyone that I speak with wrestles with some form of sadness. I thought it would be appropriate to revisit this post, as it helped many people when it was first published.*

From the title of this blog post, you may be expecting a happy story about a Christmas event or pageant, children on stage singing or dancing.  Instead, what you'll be reading about is dealing with grief during the holiday season.

It is a proven fact that around religious holidays, be it Christmas,  Hanukkah, Easter, etc., there is an increase in mortality rates.  The concept of mortality rates can be traced as far back into history as Babylonian times and the rule of King Hammurabi.  In our modern times, this translates into insurance companies creating their mortality charts.  As this became standard practice, there became occasional note in media that death rates increase around significant religious holidays.

Think for a moment, and doubtless, either you or someone you know has lost a beloved family member or friend around a religious holiday.  I fall into this category, having lost the person I consider to be my strongest father figure.  He was my Uncle, my Mom's eldest brother, the patriarch of our clan.  Several years ago, he passed from this life on Christmas Eve morning after a lengthy, brave battle with debilitating illness.  As the Christmas holidays draw near, I find, despite my best intentions, there are definitely moments of melancholy that visit my heart.  Small wonder that if I feel these moments, the rest of the world might be visited by similar feelings in relation to their own personal losses.

There are many schools of thought about reasons that so many souls choose a religious holiday as the time to release from their physical body and pass from this reality.  My own thoughts on this topic are very personal, with one of the thoughts being that our Souls recognize an increased energy around high holy days.  I have always thought that this increased energy might facilitate an individual in making the choice to release from their physical body.  The reasons are myriad, the theories about this are endless, and at the end of the day, they probably don't matter beyond the ability to comfort us in the midst of painful, sad moments.

I have no mysterious remedy for this, other than to give it voice.  We are all very accustomed to slapping on that bright, cheerful social mask to cover our roiling emotions.  It's the holiday season (or whatever other particular moment in life where sad memories surface), be happy, upbeat and positive!!!  Don't be sad about the loss of a loved one, for fear you might drag everyone else down around you!!  Right?!  We all feel obligated to project that facade so that we don't make others uncomfortable or sad right along with us.  It is obvious that this tendency to stuff down our emotions around significant holidays and/or anniversaries of losing a loved one makes dealing with these significant dates that much more challenging.  When, and why did we as a collective society decide that it makes more sense to paste a happy smile on our faces than to honor our true emotions? 

Strong emotions, especially those connected to loss, do make most people uncomfortable.  It hits too closely to home for everyone; if you're mourning the death of a loved one and you present those emotions outwardly, that in turn can trigger buried emotions in others.  It's just a human response, this triggering of fears and resistance, and the need to cover everything up with a neat, tidy, happy facade.  Another truth is that most of us don't deal with significant loss immediately and instantly. 

Most of us are familiar with the five stages of grief.  They are as follows:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

Each person and each situation, each loss, is different regarding the manner in which these stages are processed.  For some, although I would think this is rare, the five stages are processed quickly and dealt with in a short amount of linear time.  For others, the process can take much longer, sometimes years.  Another point to make is that even after we have navigated our way through those stages, they can boomerang on us and creep back in unexpectedly, years later.  Anniversaries of loss are strong triggers.  What has always frustrated me is the medical mindset that after making our way through those five stages once, then it is all said and done, all bound up in an orderly bundle, case closed and door shut permanently.  I strongly disagree with that mindset.

Christmas, Hanukkah and the New Year, altogether, present a time when family and friendship is our focus, so of course sadness will lurk beneath the surface as we have wistful moments, missing those no longer here with us physically.  It is, therefore, not surprising that we'll sometimes feel sucker punched with sad moments.
 
Dealing with sad anniversaries is never easy.  What works for me might not work for you, but I can share my own process.  When I begin to feel those sad moments creeping in, the most important step that I take is to recognize it for what it is.  Life can be so hectic around the Christmas season that we don't pay enough attention to how we're honestly feeling.  We'll rush from one obligation and social function to the next, pushing the sad, bad, confused or angry emotions down until they finally expand and explode.  So, for my own mental and emotional health, I find it of paramount importance to stop and identify what I'm feeling.  It doesn't always come readily to mind for me either, because of course it's much easier to deny sadness and instead label it as being tired or grumpy or something much easier to ignore.

What I have learned over the years is that embracing the seemingly negative emotions does not equal failure of any type on a personal level.  The true failure, I feel, comes from denying what we feel and never allowing it to have enough of a voice for it to be processed.  So, I take time to look inward.  It isn't always pleasant, or easy, and rarely is it enjoyable.  It is, above all, vitally important.  I feel that in a way, it is a moment of Grace and tribute, when I stop, identify the reason for those melancholy moments and let myself feel what comes from within.  Grace, because I am honoring myself when I allow myself to grieve.  Tribute, because in recognizing these feelings, it gives me a moment to remember the person I loved deeply.  When I do open up to myself, the memories that I embrace are inexorably entwined with all the reasons I loved that person.  So, yes, sadness will be felt.  Many times the result is tears. Eventually, though, happier memories will also flood my mind and in a different manner, I will go through those five stages of grief all over again before coming to that moment of acceptance.

The inescapable truth is that when we lose someone we love, it is a life sentence.  We spend the rest of our lives learning how to cope, manage our lives and live without that person's physical presence.  That's the challenging part.  Just when we think we're doing really well, a holiday or anniversary will approach and cut us off at the knees.  Psychologists developed the five stages of grief to identify what we are feeling and where we are in relation to dealing with personal loss.  From that perspective, the concept is valid, but I honestly feel that it doesn't come to a definitive, full stop, ever.  I am not saying that we exist in sharp, raw grief permanently, nor would I suggest such a thing is healthy or prudent.  What I am trying to point out is that we do experience layers of grief, sadness and loss in sometimes unexpected ways at different times, for various reasons. As a result, we experience a micro-moment, often repeatedly, of those five stages.

In light of this, I think that kindness would be the word of the day. If you can step back from everything else that requires your attention and focus your attention on You, compassion and understanding are what you deserve when you are confronted with those unexpected holiday triggers, layers and stages of sadness.  You deserve kindness, and a few quiet moments to look clearly at what you are feeling.  Give it voice, allow yourself to feel, to remember, to cry; perhaps smile or laugh.  Then, when you feel ready, you will be able to gently tuck the memories back into a corner of your heart and mind that will allow you to move forward with strength, rather than sapping you of energy and enjoyment of the holiday season.  Remind yourself that these feelings will surface again, and recognize that this time, by embracing the moment with Grace and acceptance, you will possibly be able to achieve a more solid balance.

Talking about it with family or friends might be an integral part of this process; there are no hard and fast rules here.  Do what works best and feels right for you.  In talking with others, you may be surprised to find that you've opened the door up for them as well, to do some processing, sharing and healing of their own.

In closing, I wrestled with myself about posting this blog.  It is a highly personal and volatile subject, and perhaps not one many will want to contemplate in the midst of the holiday season. I was feeling sadness as the calendar approaches a personal anniversary date of loss, and for me, writing out the emotions and giving them voice was helpful and healing. I have no idea if what I have written and shared will be of a helpful nature to others, but I am going ahead with posting it.  Perhaps these words and thoughts will resonate with others out there and bring a moment of clarity and peace to their hearts as they realize they are not alone with what they are feeling.  Maybe the simple suggestion that yes, you will go through repeated, myriad experiences of those five stages will be a moment of epiphany for someone out there, allowing them to embrace kindness towards themselves as they process through that most current incarnation. 

If you have stayed with me through to the culmination of this particular post, whether it clicked with you on a personal level or not, you have my appreciation for spending time with me as I navigated through my own five holiday stages.  As a result, my heart is lighter and I have been able to move forward with a gladdened spirit to enjoy my Christmas.  Blessings to you all, this year, this holiday season.

Quiet Tribute

*I wrote this article in 2012, and feel that it still speaks my heart and my perspective on the day this tragedy struck my country.  It is my way of paying tribute and remembering those who fell that day.  - S. Dawn Sievers*

I was taking a shower that morning, and heard the phone ringing.  I didn't think much of it, as I had plans to meet a girlfriend for lunch later that day.  I finished showering, decided to dry my hair before listening to the answering machine message.  But the phone rang again, and yet again, encouraging me to stop everything and answer the call. It was my girlfriend telling me the USA had been attacked, that a plane had hit one of the Towers of the World Trade Center and another one had gone down in a field somewhere in Pennsylvania, and equally nightmarish - a living nightmare - was the news that our Pentagon had also suffered an attack....all of this happening within a very short span of time on the clock of that September morning.

This was difficult to even picture or fathom, because this type of thing just doesn't happen to America.  Or, it didn't.  Up until that day, our country had lived in a unique bubble, safe and never assailed by outside forces in this modern age.  The bubble was broken that day.

I turned the TV on and watched, horrified.  The second plane hit the second of the World Trade Center Towers before my eyes and the eyes of the whole world.  Comprehension and terrible understanding sank in.  As I left my house to drive over to my girlfriend's house, I noticed the absolute hush over the day.  Some of this hush was due to all airplanes except for military being grounded, but it was more than that.

There was a hush in nature.  

No birds were singing.  I remember that very clearly, and I stood outside listening for a good 15 minutes, looking around me, but the sounds of nature were silent.  My home at the time was surrounded by heavy tracts of woods, so there were always the sounds of birds chirping.  But not that day.  It was silent outside.  There was no breeze.  Just a still hush over the world that was palpable.  I will never forget how it felt, as though the world was holding its breath for the people who perished that day.

I spent the day getting in touch with everyone I love the most, making sure they were safe.  There was an intrinsic need to connect with them, and I learned I was not alone in that need.  Phone lines and computer servers were overloaded with extremely high levels of activity that day.  I grieved at what a great loss we had incurred and struggled to make sense of it.  There is no sense to be garnered, obviously.  The only positive thing I can take from it is that we survived it.  Our country survived, but thousands of innocent people died.  This many years later, the memories are still vivid and fresh, and for many....still raw.

I've read other people's thoughts of where they were that day. I was in Knoxville, Tennessee, living my very ordinary life, safe and far from harm's way.  That prompted me to share my memories and what still stands out so strongly in my memory was how quiet the day became.  For those who believe this planet is inanimate, without reaction to tragic events, I would hold that memory out as an example of the exact opposite.

I felt the earth react and give quiet tribute to the ones who left us.

Surveying the wreckage

Photo:  ansil.tumblr.com

In the last 2-3 months, I've had a decidedly eventful life.  At face value, that sounds exciting, doesn't it?  It hasn't been.  It's been interesting, yes, and I've certainly grown in ways I would never have predicted or imagined prior to these events, but none of it was exciting.  Epiphanies were the by product of these events.  The following is a comment I left on the blog post of my dear friend, Debra El Ramey (http://debrasblogpureandsimple.blogspot.com/2012/07/inch-by-inch.html):

"I found this interesting. It would be simple to say that I am writing my own manuscripts with hopes of being published, and that is true. What came to mind, however, is that I am releasing some layers of armor that no longer serve me. And the realization came from a very harsh, unexpected lesson - the death of a loved one polarized everything in my life and from that one breath to the next, I was forever changed. I recognized that something that had been valid, important and very passionately necessary to me one day simply became unimportant in one powerful blow. I am now surveying the wreckage of some vestiges of ego and processing and learning who I am now, afterwards.  And I do believe I have the genesis of my next blog post.
I never cease to marvel at how I greet myself anew when I visit here, Debra."
Debra's post:  http://debrasblogpureandsimple.blogspot.com/2012/07/inch-by-inch.html         *I encourage you to visit Debra's wonderful blog!*

Those who know me well might be surprised to learn that I'm stubborn.  I am.  I admit it freely.  I don't know if I'm more stubborn than most, or if I'm just more vocal about it when need be.  What I do question about my stubbornness is if I subsequently require a more dramatic set of lessons in order to be awakened to what should otherwise be obvious to my pea brain.  These recent epiphanies came on the heels of some very hard and harsh experiences.

In May of this year (2012), I went through a series of car calamities that grew progressively worse, with one event being a near miss where I could easily have died.  My back right tire exploded in rush hour traffic, literally lifting my car up in the air, then throwing my car directly into the oncoming lane where I should have been hit head on by a monster truck and three other cars.  Somehow, they all swerved and avoided me and I managed to wrestle my car back into the proper lane without hitting anyone or being hit.  There was a lesson in that experience - a big one, and I'm still processing it.  Mere weeks later, my car finally bit the dust.  This experience happened on the heels of a personal situation that, at the time, was driving me to near distraction.  The resulting epiphany was quite dramatic and gave me the opportunity to walk in that other person's (the other person in that relationship) shoes and know and feel immediately what that person had been attempting to communicate to me.  So, two similar lessons layered one atop the other and kicked me into a new state of awareness with a rather brutal boot.

Fast forward to July of this year (2012) and I lost a family member to suicide.  What has come to mind, in the days since, is that I am releasing some layers of armor that no longer serve me. This realization came from the very harsh, unexpected lesson of the death of that loved one.  It polarized everything in my life and from that one breath to the next, I was forever changed. I recognized that something that had been valid, important and very passionately necessary to me one day simply became unimportant in one powerful blow. I am now surveying the wreckage of some vestiges of ego and processing and learning who I am now, afterwards.  As you can see, this is the comment I wrote above, on Debra's blog post Comments section.

Those valid issues that held such importance to me are still valid, and I daresay I will revisit them in the future to assess their new level of importance.  But right now, today, I am changed.  I came to a swift, blinding rush of realization, courtesy of the finality that sudden death of a loved one brings.  I remember reflecting on the decision I had made the day before, a very permanent, final, tough decision.  It ended a relationship that was important to me, that decision.  At the time, I fully, firmly believed I was making the right choice for myself.  I still believe that. At that moment in time, it was the right decision to make.  But after I lost a loved one to suicide, I was made bluntly aware that the person I was when I made that dramatic decision no longer existed.

It's fair to say we change with each tick of the clock. It's a minute splitting of hairs, if we want to go down that spiral of thought.  It does apply here, that splitting of hairs. I received a fateful phone call that someone I loved took their own life, and the world changed for me in that jagged flash of words.  As I went through the grief process, I reflected on the fact that nothing I could do...no decision I could make would make a difference with that equation. Nothing could bring my loved one back.  All I had power over was myself and the decisions and choices I make.  And I was made dramatically aware that that hard line choice I had made the day before, the one that had felt so strongly right and valid, was no longer a truth for me.

So, rather than inch by inch of progress, as Debra's blog speaks of, I began to peel layer by layer away of my old self.  I stood and surveyed the wreckage of where my Ego firmly planted itself, hand in hand with Pride and Fear, and made a defiant stand.  Those noble flags of Self no longer flew with bright colors on the landscape of my soul.  Instead, they rested quietly on veritable flag poles, waiting to be lowered, folded and tucked away, as they were simply no longer necessary.

In the process of finding my feet, finding my balance in this new existence, I've mentioned to a couple of people that in the last 6 - 8 months, I've been greeting myself in ways that I would never have predicted.  Relationships do that....they provide a very clear mirror for us to see who we are, to see our behaviors and if we're smart, they provide clarity for us to make necessary changes.  I've been experiencing that very thing and I'm not ashamed to admit that I didn't always like what that mirror showed me.  Living in Ego is something we all do and it's a very human behavior.  It....living in Ego, can be defined, also, as living in Fear.  That is a behavior that I work on constantly to mitigate in myself, with an eye towards cutting repetitive, negative cycles that serve no other purpose but to hold me back.

A little more than a month later, I am still adapting to this new Self.  I am also continuing to greet myself within the auspices of this relationship that shapes me on a constant basis.  I like the changes that are taking place; I like the level of communication that is being fostered on both sides.

There is value in being broken down; I think most of us recognize this fact. Remaining in a rigid mindset might feel comfortable and familiar, but the freedom that breaking free of those inflexible walls offers is a joyful thing to experience.  I'm breathing differently....more deeply....more confidently.  I am looking at myself and others with new eyes.

And I'm climbing a new hill, because that's what we do as we move forward in Life.  We traverse those endless hills and valleys.  From the viewpoint of the upward slope of this current hill, I look over my shoulder....just once....to survey the recent wreckage.  Then I turn and keep walking forward, and upward.  What is ahead of me is wide open road.

Sad Weathering - Suicide and Practising Compassion

Photo:  fr.treklens.com/gallery/photo

Suicide.  It's a harsh, ragged, ugly word.  It conjures equally dark, despairing mental images, and finally, it inflicts a quality of pain on those left living that is difficult to quantify.

My family is weathering such an event. It is very fresh, having happened this past weekend.  One of my cousins took her own life.  I will not go into further detail, as I want to respect my family and her beloved memory.  What I want to talk about today is all of the emotion that swirls around this verboten word, verboten act.

Judgment is almost instantaneous when you hear the word "suicide".

• "Oh, they must've been very weak."  
• "Suicide is the coward's way out."  
• "Why didn't they ask for help?"
• "They're in a better place."  
• "I'll pray for them, because they're going to burn in hell eternally."

I think most of these are understandable thoughts, human ones. And they are very common to hear after a suicide death, I am learning.  But I will tell you, from my own very raw emotional state, they are unnecessary and they're cruel to speak to anyone who is weathering the fallout out of suicide.  We who are left behind to pick up the pieces do not need to defend the actions of our loved one.  We do not need to come up with logical answers as to why that loved one made that final decision. No one but that person can answer what thoughts went through their mind that tipped their hand in those final moments.  We need for you to be there for us in support, love and care.  Sadly, this is rarely what people think to offer, or they feel that any of the above comments are somehow going to offer solace.  They do not do that. What gives solace to each of us will differ, but just know that words of judgment are not appropriate or helpful when a family is coping with a suicide death.

In my opinion, anyone who commits suicide is far from weak.  Nor are they cowardly.  Consider the amount of bravery it takes to make that final motion that ends your life - could anyone honestly imagine that a weak person is capable of such a thing?  I think it takes a huge amount of bravery, but I'm sure many will strongly disagree with me.  Weakness is certainly evident when anyone is in such a distressed and despairing state of mind that death appears to be their only viable option, but that is not a weakness of character.  It is a state of mental illness that should engender compassion and understanding, rather than strident jumps to condemnation and judgement.

Why didn't they ask for help?  Good question.  It is one that will torment those left behind for many years, perhaps for the rest of their natural lives.  Perhaps that person DID ask for help, and no one listened, or the plea wasn't recognized as such....those being asked simply didn't realize the enormity of the request.  We all get busy with our daily existence and we brush aside seemingly surface level conversations that later, after a death has occurred, suddenly clarify and show us the depth of pain that loved one was in.  So, we turn that judgment and condemnation inward and the pain is compounded daily, like the interest rate on a bank loan.

Depression is not one dimensional, and it is simplistic to suggest that it can be doctored up and resolved if the person suffering a depression episode just talks to someone. It is different for every person who experiences clinical depression as to how it manifests, but there are some commonalities. 

I can say with a fair degree of confidence that most people suffering a depression cycle who have taken that final step to commit suicide have gone through multiple rounds of therapy, have talked and talked with friends, family and pastors, preachers and spiritual advisors, have put in earnest work on themselves, have taken prescription medications and tried holistic therapies. They've reached out during those initial scary first, second, third and more attempts to take their lives, and if they were lucky to reach out to the right person and they were willing to be talked down off the proverbial suicide ledge, they're still living today. With depression, the reality is that it is usually a repetitive cycle these people experience and it is a grueling, grinding experience that eventually wears them down.  

A mindset that has nothing to do with clear, mentally healthy logic sets in where they convince themselves that the world will be fine, and their loved ones will be better off without them.  

Yes, they know that people will grieve, but they are convinced that this final act of taking their life is truly for the best, and they're doing the world and their loved ones a favor.  The skewed mindset that takes over makes this train of thought sound just convincing enough to that worn down, tired spirit that that terrible final decision is enacted. 

The reality is that if someone you love is set in their mind on taking their life, not much any of us can say or do will have much of an effect other than to delay the inevitable. 

• Most likely, that loved one has attempted suicide more than once in the past, or they've given a lot of thought to it, or they're dropping hints in conversation that they're contemplating it, and the hints are so minute and purposely veiled that people don't recognize the warning flag. 
• Most likely, they've cried wolf repeatedly to the point that those close to them become inured to that one final time that they're really serious.  OR, another truth is that they've exhausted those close to them with repeated suicide attempts and those people have run out of ideas to help, support to offer, energy to pour into that bottomless pit of despair that no one but that individual can heal. 
• There isn't any blueprint for how someone approaches suicide or makes that final choice, but if there is any truth to accept, it is that most likely, nothing any of us might have said or done could have stopped that person from their actions. And because of this, no one should EVER be made to feel guilty because their loved one took their own life!!  

They're in a better place.  Perhaps they are, given that anyone who contemplates suicide is in an obviously dark, despairing emotional and mental space.  I will tell you that hearing "they're in a better place" is not what I want(ed) to hear in those first few hours.  I was blessed to be able to call someone close to me and equally blessed that that person came to my side immediately and stayed with me through the majority of that first awful day.  He didn't offer platitudes, judgments or any of the above comments I've listed.  He was simply there for me.  Allowing me to cry, allowing me to process through the wildly swinging pendulum of emotions, and simply being there for and with me.  That was what I needed.  A familiar face, simple companionship, sincere care and friendship, and the space to process the rawness of grief.  Other people might find comfort in platitudes and surface level statements; I do not mean to throw out my own harsh judgments when I know that every person who utters such platitudes is truly doing and saying the only things they know.  I am sharing here what worked best for me.

I'm not going to dignify the "they're going to burn in hell eternally" comment beyond simply saying shame on anyone who is thoughtless enough to utter such a statement to someone who has just lost a loved one to suicide.  Yes, I heard this statement this week, more than once, and I found it to be the most incredibly ugly,  unnecessary, rude thing I've ever heard in my life.  Please, exercise common sense, people. No one deserves to have to hear such a thing about someone they loved. Prayers are most certainly appreciated, but comments about eternal damnation?  Absolutely not.

Most of us have heard of the five stages of grief:  

1.     Denial

2.     Anger

3.     Bargaining

4.     Depression

5.     Acceptance

Several years ago, I wrote about this whole thing, the grief process, and how it tends to manifest around High Holy Days, how suicides and deaths increase around Christmas and Easter and other Holy Days. (Holiday Stages, 12/21/2009 Healing Morning)  In that article, I discussed the fact that those five stages of grief don't necessarily neatly process for us one single time and get tied up in a pretty bow to be tucked away and never felt again.  In fact, grief is never neat and pretty.  It is jagged and raw and ugly, and has no semblance of logic to it.  Nor do those stages of grief hit us only once.  They revisit in varying degrees over the coming years.  I am well aware of this fact, so I know I will be dealing with ebbs and flows of my own grief process for a while....probably for years.  Right now, I cannot imagine ever reaching a stage of acceptance where I will not miss my cousin with a sense of urgency and bewilderment.

Suicide creates its own well of pain, simply because it is a conscious act, a choice, that most view with the aforementioned condemnation and judgment.  I am certainly not going to suggest it is a good choice, or a rational one.  But I will say that for those left behind to pick up the pieces, understanding and compassion towards the whole situation is the kindest thing anyone can offer.  That means understanding and compassion for the ones left behind AND for the person who committed suicide. 

Suicide also engenders a lot of silence.  People are uncertain what to say when death by suicide occurs.  So, they quite often fall back on awkward silences or those harsh judgments mentioned above. If you can't bring yourself to understand why that person made that choice, and really, none of us can truly understand such a thing, then I would hope you can be capable of extending your heart in a compassionate manner.  Do your level best to keep your judgments to yourself, because they do not belong in the midst of those who are grieving.

My personal thoughts are not of anger towards my family member who took her own life.  Yes, I feel anger, but more towards the whole mess.  I feel anger that she will no longer be here to experience the beauty of our family and the beauty of life.  But more importantly, I am saddened beyond words to express that she's gone.  She's gone forever from our family, that familiar presence that I have always known to be there.  A beautiful, vibrant, talented life was cut short.  She's not here any longer, and I miss her already.  I will miss her for the rest of my life, and I'll have to put conscious effort into learning to live without her.  We are tasked with that chore when any loved one passes, but suicide makes the loss sharper, simply because it wasn't Destiny at work.  It was choice at work.  And it didn't have to happen.  It did happen, though, and my family is left with learning to live without her.  What I feel towards my cousin is love, and what I will always feel for her is love. Compassion. Sadness. A true wish that she had made a different choice. An obvious desire that she hadn't done this and I still had her here with me.  But abiding love is the mainstay.

I am experiencing a flood of memories of this cousin.  Childhood memories, all of us growing up together, and she being our role model.  Bright, happy, beautiful. In the coming weeks, we will have a memorial service during our yearly family reunion. I will be delivering the eulogy for my cousin.  And my own conscious choice is to celebrate her life, rather than dwell on the final dark moments that led to how her life ended.  There is much to put into words, this process of celebrating a life.  Right now, I am not certain how I will accomplish it.  Eventually, the words will flow as they always do, and I will have pages of words to speak in her memory.  The speaking part....that is where I am still unsure how I will do it.  How I will get through it.  Will I choke up?  Break down in tears and be unable to continue?  I hope not, as I staunchly insist that although suicide ended her life, that word does not define the beautiful person she was.

In the wee hours of the night after she left us, I finally calmed enough to check my Facebook page.  The following quote from the Persian poet-philosopher, Rumi, is what resonated strongly for me:

Although I may try to describe Love,

When I experience it, I am speechless.

No words can ever truly capture the essence of that person we each loved, nor can they give voice to the depth of love we feel for them, nor can they express the acute pain we feel when they leave us in an untimely manner.  Perhaps now, words aren't necessary any longer.  Simply remembering her loving Soul, her smile, her laughter, her simple enjoyment of life, her talent, the sound of her voice, the way it felt to hug her, the way she brightened the room, these are enough.

To any who read this who have experienced personal loss of a loved one to suicide, my thoughts, love, and prayers for healing and compassion go out to you. 

What do you do when....

Photo:  http://www.siaphoto.com/

What do you do when you can't breathe?  When something occurs that literally strips the breath from your body and you're suspended in that polarizing moment, gasping.  This can take many forms.  Some beautiful, some incredibly raw and angry, some reaching a level of sublime happiness, and others so steeped in sadness that  it is beyond words to express.

That moment, when the air is taken from us seems to last an endless forever.  Our minds and emotions seize up in a sort of shock as we grapple to understand the enormity of the moment.  A whole slew of physiological effects set in...pupils dilating, heart rate increasing, fingertips and lips going slightly numb, slightly tingling, goosebumps hitting at times, sweating occurring at others, stomach twisting and pitching, laughter bursting from us in a glorious ripple of smiling notes, or gut wrenching sobs the next sound we're capable of making. 

Most of the time when this happens, we are forever changed.  Uplifted at times, devastated at others.  It's one of those very pure moments when everything narrows down to a literal pinpoint of focus.  From that one breath suspended, to that next moment when we finally inhale again, the world changes.  We change.  A remarkable shift occurs.

It's a curious thing, how all that we are, who we are, can change in such a blinding, rapid manner.  It can happen in a fleeting rush, barreling upon us in a wild, dramatic swirl.  Or it can slip through and brush softly as a whisper.  Regardless of the delivery, it is profound and dramatic.

We experience it from the hands of another....from the words of another.  Or from our own initiative.  Sometimes it is a moment in Nature.  Or a song lyric.  A fragrance that teases the heart and the memory.  A touch so sincere that we cannot resist it.  And we are undone.  Unraveled, or conversely, wound so tightly, so quickly, that we must shatter into a million pieces of delight or maddened grief.

Peace walks these same halls.  As does love.  They both grab the breath from us, lifting up and embracing us in an inestimable manner. 

What do you do when you can't breathe?  You endure it.  Or you celebrate it.  You continue to live, accepting that infinitesimal moment that has shifted everything that you are into a new person.  And you are born anew, taking fumbling steps, uncertain on wobbly knees and feet.  Pared down to your elemental self, vulnerable, naked and alone, and seeing the world through brand new eyes.

What do you do when you can't breathe and the cold vapor of that crashing experience stuns you?  You momentarily become a creature of ice, shards of silvered frost entwining throughout your very cells, turning you crystalline.  Waiting for a touch to warm and melt you back to humanity.

Waiting for a touch to enfold.  To stutter-start your breath again.

There in an indefinable space that simultaneously lasts both a nanosecond and a limitless, echoing eternity...what do you do?  You feel.  Simply that. 

You feel.

Silence is near

Leonardo da Vinci's
Head of a Woman

I don't know if every writer is also a poet, or if every poet is a writer.  I know that I consider myself to be both, as my Muse visits and sometimes decides to manifest in a manuscript, and sometimes the words come out in poetic format.

I rarely publish my poetry, as the majority of it is very personal.  A dear friend recently posted some of her own poetry on her blog after a long spell of being wordless.  Some of the comments that ensued about her poetry struck me as very profound, in that she mentioned poetry, for her, is usually grounded in difficult emotional moments.  In the last couple of months, I've shared some of my own poetry with a small number of writing friends which has resulted in every single one of them urging me to begin publishing my poetry here on Healing Morning.  I was hesitant, because as with Jane Prater Haislip whom I mentioned above, some of my poetry was written in very trying emotional moments.  My hesitance was that if I shared my poetry, people would automatically read some of the darker content and misinterpret where I am emotionally today.  Where I am today, by the way, is a very happy emotional place.  That being said, I've noticed repetition kicking in about poetry all around me.  When repetition strikes often about the same subject, that's a Divine nudge, in my opinion.  So, I have decided to take a leap of faith and share some of my poetry here.  

The poem below was written several years ago during one of the most painful emotional moments of my life.  I won't go into details; I will just say that this poem flowed from an inestimable place that at the time seemed to be an endless well of sadness and grief.  Because those emotions do seem to prompt the poetry Muse, I gave the emotions voice and identified the pain in the figure of Silence.  I've written in the past about grief, and I continue to find it a very important topic that is sometimes....often...swept under the proverbial rug. Grief in its raw form is primal, and that makes many uncomfortable.  I believe it is important and healthy to process these emotions.  In sharing this poem with friends recently, many said that they felt this one would be of help to others in their own grieving process.  This is why I chose it as my first poetry post.

Silence is near

I can hear the beating of my heart

the quiet closing in on me
pressing near with palpable force

Silence waits patiently

in the darkness, anticipating
my utter desolation

the incredible feeling of absence
it lingers with a bitter taste

jeering cruelly

ripping the breath from me
a heart punch

dancing gleefully in my agony
leaving me…

…bereft

my mouth open in a soundless scream
stripped bare
robbed of who I am

stark in the violence of loss

Silence smugly waits

witnessing
the empty shell of me

alone
no comforting touch of strong arms

no earthy smell of skin
no taste on my tongue to soothe

depths of despair
wrenching

scraping nerves already shredded and raw
digging without remorse

to reveal abandonment

Silence waits patiently
to enfold my shattered remains

wrapping me up

Turn your face away from the light

Dance with me here


I am so close to your love…am I not?
Mocking you with a shadow of sweetness

the shell of memories…a pitiful thing

the soft icy sound of her mad laughter echoes
insistent
in the chasm of my broken soul

the one sad note detected
is that of the two of us weeping

Silence waits patiently
hovering in the fractures of me

her touch a magnificent isolation

In your moment of blank emptiness

Only I remain to greet you

Despite the very sad tone of this poem, I feel it is one of the best pieces I have ever written. I remember writing it in one sitting, perhaps it took ten minutes, total, to write it. The sharp pain of grief poured out of my hands into the words, and I remember that for a short while, that night, I finally slept for the first time in days. It wasn't the beginning of healing, that moment, but it was a brief respite from the crushing pain I was experiencing. As I mentioned above, I am now recovered from that sad time in my past, and very happy. If, however, my writing in any form - be it blogging, poetry, a manuscript or a magazine article - can help someone who is in that first razor sharp stage of grief to feel not so alone, then it will be worth the uncertainty of baring my own grief to the eyes of the blogging world.

I am hopeful that people will read this and find something worthwhile to take from it. I believe that Silence has visited us all, numerous times, in her sad, slightly crazed form. Grief does throw us into a maelstrom of what I call "spiritual insanity" for a time. Eventually, that eases and we begin to heal. In my mind's eye, Silence absorbs those terrible emotions, the ones simply too horrific for us to bear, and she becomes our solace. In my own soft, sensitive heart, as fanciful as it may sound, I hope there is a place for her to turn to as well, after she absorbs those emotions.


Grief is necessary. We all know this. Without going through all the stages of grief, often multiple times, we cannot come back to a whole person, capable of moving forward. Silence was a part of my grieving and this poem was the result of her visit to me.

Lamp shining brightly

A couple of friends of mine are going through some challenges. One lost a beloved family member; another was just having a really crummy personal day. The quote below came to mind for both of them and prompted me to write my own thoughts:

"Perhaps it will seem to you that the sunshine is brighter and that everything has a new charm. At least, I believe this is always the result of a deep love. And it is a beautiful thing. And I believe people who think love prevents one from thinking clearly are wrong; for then one thinks very clearly and is more active than before. And love is something eternal - the aspect may change, but not the essence. There is the same difference in a person before and after he is in love as there is in an unlighted lamp and one that is burning. The lamp was there and it was a good lamp, but now it is shedding light too, and that is its real function. And love makes one calmer about many things, and in that way, one is more fit for one's work."
~ Vincent Van Gogh

I have always found this quote to be startlingly beautiful. The concept captures so many different applications of how we, as humans, love. It also narrows the reader's focus to a still, silent thought, a moment to ponder love and how it illumines each Soul.

We all have those unpleasant days - at times they can go beyond the span of a day - where nothing feels good. Nothing seems to fit, colors are muted and sounds are muffled. We twist and turn, searching for something outside of ourselves to mitigate this dimming effect. At times, something outward does do the trick. There are moments which require only a change in scenery, or the company of a good friend to lift our mood and banish the gloom. For the moments that extend beyond those quick fixes, Van Gogh's quote sometimes comes to mind for me.

For those who have suffered the recent loss of a deeply loved one, the process of grief is an individual one. Each of us must walk that particular path alone, moving through the various stages until acceptance finally is met. Love from those still here can certainly prove to be a lifeline which we all grasp hold of. There will be, without a doubt, days of darkness to navigate in solitude. Days where your heart is sore with loss and nothing seems capable of soothing. Again, I come back to Van Gogh's quote.

Love is a fickle creature, of a certainty. It is also that which lifts us, transports us to joyous bliss, fills us up with fizzing delight, warms us with a soft, lambent inner glow. We can be pitched into the depths of despair by love, left sprawled on the floor, completely undone and broken. That light...that lamp which Van Gogh identifies as the analogy and symbol of love....it is always there. It may require effort on our part at times to light, or to shelter from whipping winds of change. I daresay we should consider ourselves dutiful stewards of our individual lamps. Without constant care, the lamp can grow dull, can become depleted of sufficient fuel to shine brightly in the darkness.

It is perhaps very simplistic to claim that printing a quote from long ago might have the power to lift the hearts of those reading this blog post. A friend having a challenging day might not feel like being coaxed into a better mood by Van Gogh's perspective. The friend in the midst of fresh, sharp grief and the loss of a loved one might not have the energy to even think about reading a blog post. Others dealing with their own challenges may brush this off as just another blog post full of self-indulgent optimism, hearts and flowers and those inevitable rose-colored glasses that this writer insists on wearing. All of the above have merit. I cannot claim to have miraculous answers or solutions for those who are in the midst of their own personal struggles.

What I can do, however, is reach out in my own personal fashion. I can share the quote above in the sure knowledge that, if it touched my heart and continues to have value for me, most likely it will touch others and inspire. I think that Van Gogh's words are beautiful, full of hope, that they communicate a wish for those reading the words to have courage and believe in the fact that love is eternal.

"...the aspect may change, but not the essence."

We forget, often, in the midst of our personal moments of crisis, that love is an eternal constant. It truly is the most powerful emotion in existence and can banish a crummy day in the twinkling of an eye. Soothing broken hearts obviously requires much more time and effort, but the eternal nature of this emotion, coupled with the healing application of time, is again that one endless constant. How fortunate we are, then, that brilliant minds took time to write personal thoughts for us to read hundreds of years later; to be encouraged, to be inspired, to be gently wrapped in the words of love and brought through those maelstrom moments to calmer shores.

We can believe...and know, for it is true, that our lamp shines brightly.