The World Breaks Us Open Every Day

A Mother's Reflection: There are no easy answers in life. There is no straight pathway. The world breaks us open every day.

Click to read more ...

The Other Side of May... a reflection on grief

“When the river of the soul takes your weight into itself, you can release that which has died into the next world so that you may live more fully in this one.” Karla McLaren – The Language of Emotions

If a single month could be a lightening rod for grief-filled events then May would be my designated “rod.” Before you jump into sympathy mode or start asking yourself what might have happened to me in the past few weeks, let me assure you that things are well and there were no significant “strikes” this year. Conversely, it was a period of time where I was able to dip deeply into the river of my soul and emerge on the other side living lighter and more fully.

The winter months were filled with countless live-giving events and boatloads of adventure. By the time mid-April arrived, my body was in deep need of rest and restoration. It seemed somewhat ironic (or not) that May was just around the corner and my calendar allowed the spaciousness to sink into relaxation alongside remnants of previously glossed-over grief.

Teeny Me @ Bandon Beach

Unresolved grief and heartache form like mist over a morning pond. Vaporous, we can put our hands through it and almost pretend nothing is there, but the moisture and residue permeate into our deepest core nonetheless. We want to push the hurtful feelings away with words like, “I should be over this by now,” “I’ve already gone through this process once, twice, a hundred times,” or “I’ve moved past this and don’t/can’t/won’t move backwards again.” This is the place we often get stuck, because we believe if we acknowledge the pain it will grow rather than dissipate. There is a difference between fondling the story—turning a tale over and over in our minds and relishing the attention it brings us—and necessarily feeling the depth of grief or experience. If we haven’t allowed ourselves the space to sink fully into grief, then it will continue to return repeatedly like the morning mist.

My personal experience was that for multiple years May brought events of heartbreak and tragedy stacked and piled upon each other. I responded by attempting to move forward, not slowing down, and pushing through the pain rather than relinquishing and melting into it. I rarely found the space (or acknowledged the need) to sink into the slow movement for which my body longed. Like crop-generating fields, we can continue “producing” for numerous years until all the nutrients (life/spirit) are leached from our soil and there is nothing left to give. Just as the fields need to lie fallow to regenerate, so do we. This May became the month for me to rest, relax, restore and unplug... to lie fallow.

Turtle Steps

In hindsight, I realized that most of the month was spent living on the water... Maui, the Oregon Coast, Lakebay. There I stood watching and playing with the tides as I felt my past and present connect to the deep river of my soul. Grounding, resting, watching, letting go... my spirit was washed like baptism as I named, felt, and honored the waves of longstanding grief.

Today, I find myself on the other side of May. The past is still the past—where loved ones have moved on and my heart bears the scars of breakage, but I arise cleansed, refreshed, and more clear after having dipped deeply into the river of soul rather than continuing to paddle madly on the surface of a stagnant pond.

Ponder this...

·      What is lingering in your life that must be mourned? What do you carry that needs to be released completely?

·      Notice if statements like 'I should be over this,' 'I’ve already gone through this once,' or 'I don’t want to go backwards' arise in your mind indicating a resistance to fully accepting or honoring loss and profound transitions.

·      Consider how and where you can make space to sink into the river of the soul.

Pondering... 30 in 30 - Day 15

Happiness feels a lot like sorrow.



In the depth of our being, that place where our truest selves unite and intersect, where we experience feelings most deeply, happiness and sorrow reside together. The place of weeping for joy and laughing while our hearts are broken. Yes, happiness feels a lot like sorrow. Open-hearted. Feeling feelings. Not holding back or shying down. Sorrow seeps into the crevasses of the heart and happiness does too.



I remember a time when I felt like my world was imploding beyond repair. Drained and exhausted after a night’s painful vigilance, I lay spent in my bed unable to move from the sheer depth of sorrow. My house was empty except for the presence of my normally wandering cat, Larry. In his own vigilant way, Larry sensed my desperate need as he stayed by my side, consistently and willingly offering me glimpses of happiness with his fur and purr. Feeling his gentle touch, there came an instant when I couldn’t deny that I felt cared for and thus happiness arose for the briefest second.



Happiness and sorrow demand both tenderness and strength. To be happy when the world is falling apart takes courage untold. To weep in awe at the magnitude of life’s minutiae (like a cat’s purr) takes willingness from within. Happiness feels a lot like sorrow. Uncontainable. Overflowing. Tears. Laughter. Filled emotion. They blend and turn and tumble together like fresh clothes spinning in a dryer, everything with its distinct shade of color and loss. Full, felt emotions. Clean, not dirty. Clear and unclouded. They cartwheel and blend together. Happiness feels a lot like sorrow.



Today's ponder prompted by Amie D.



Diamonds in the Soul - helping high-functioning, under-living people recover and nourish personal delight & joy in life.

90 Seconds to Release

“Despite our fear of certain feelings, it is feeling each of them all the way through that lands us in the vibrant ache that underrides our being alive. To reach this vibrant place is often healing.” -- Mark Nepo

Life has been crazy full lately with all sorts of brilliant and shiny adventures. It’s all good, as they say. My body, however, seemed to indicate otherwise. Even amidst healthy eating, plenty of sleep and regular exercise, last week my body declared a moratorium on health. I came down with an icky cold “out of nowhere.” So, I slowed down (sort of), paid attention (with soft focus) and listened (perhaps with one ear.) Actually, I kept going – only doing the “essential” things, of course – until my body said, “Excuse me. I’d like your FULL awareness NOW.”

So, Wednesday, I woke up and I cried. Buckets. I finally let go and quit trying to analyze things and figure them out. I pushed my favorite “should” to the background – (“You should know better.”) – and just let myself be. I slowed down and got quiet. I lit a candle, played the Cistercian monks on iTunes, raged in my journal for awhile, sobbed into my pillow, wailed a little more, then went to my scheduled spiritual direction appointment where I sat with a wise listener who let me cry some more. (I hope you’re not distracted by what might have brought me to this state, because that’s not really the point… but I do appreciate your concern.)

If you’re asking what is the point, well, I just needed to let my emotions be. While I have a general idea where some of the angst arises (e.g. my mother died on Mother’s Day seven years ago and I tend to mentally forget this), the point was my body was giving me all sorts of signals that I needed a little grieving time. Again? Yes. Still? Absolutely.

We are such amazing creations and my new favorite mantra is “The body doesn’t lie.” Who would have thought that buckets of tears, some lament music, a gentle hot yoga session and ultimately oral surgery would provide the prescription to returning to my normal-feeling self? Counterintuitive, huh? Nonetheless, my blockage – both nasal and otherwise – seem to be on the pathway to clearness after following just that plan.

Brain scientist, stroke survivor and author, Jill Bolte Taylor offers that it takes only 90 seconds for the chemical release and physiological response of an emotion to be triggered, surge through our body and be completely flushed out of our bloodstream. We have a choice as to whether we mentally hold onto the pain and allow it to further poison our system, or allow ourselves the cleansing benefit of fully experiencing the surge when it arises. Wednesday I allowed my grief to expand and flow through me. It’s definitely harder than it sounds, but one of the reasons I’m recording this memory is perhaps next time, I’ll mentally get to this knowledge sooner and my body won’t have to pull out all the stops to slow me down when an uncomfortable emotion arises again. I’ve come to learn there’s nothing linear about life. We don’t get to grieve or forgive or cry, be angry or laugh just once and then be done. Life is a cyclical process that turns back on itself again and again as onward we go!

Is there an intense feeling you’ve been avoiding? Will you allow yourself 90 seconds of pure emotion today? Go ahead, throw rocks into the ocean. Crank up the blues music. Dance with abandon until your toes tingle with joy. Think about it.

Drafty Window

"Other people's pain is the wind on our house(s)." -- Betsy Pearson

The favorite room in my home is my studio and office. It is painted a brilliant color that brightens my day every time I see it. The walls are adorned with art and artifacts I've intentionally collected and each piece holds significant meaning. My studio is a place I can get messy, play and also work very hard. It's a place of comfort and rest, so it's ironic that it also encompasses one of my least favorite things - a drafty window.

Pondering this window with a friend, it came to represent a powerful metaphor in my life. The window has its special qualities which make it hard to replace. It folds gently in the middle thus allowing fresh air to pour in during the warm months while also buffering the wind which can be too chilly in this Northwest climate. There is a certain amount of protection and control from the climate. In the winter, however, the North wind blows stridently and seeps through the broken seals. Even as I wrap myself in cozy quilts, the air is chilled and impacts my warm heart. It's like the whole world is coming in through the cracks and there isn't enough heat to warm us all. It is the blessing and curse of having a heart broken wide open. There is a crack in everything that's how the pain gets in. Sometimes there is enough warmth and compassion. Other times the draft chills me to the bone.

• Step outside and feel the air on your skin
• Imagine each breath of air contains someone's pain and another's joy
• Breathe deeply and experience the connection with the whole world
• With your out-breath, send a warm blanket of love, joy and compassion into the Universe