|The morning sunrise view from my recliner chair.|
Journal and letter writing, writing down my dreams from the night before. I'll admit to being sometimes groggy eyed and not totally with it, but for the most part, I relish in this quiet time in the house. The family rises sometime around 6:30 or 6:45 so it gives me a full hour in the recliner chair by the picture window with my pen, journal, computer and thoughts. Oh, and coffee-most importantly.
I'm on week 3 of a 6 week class called The Ground of Waiting and this morning writing time is part of this journey. The class is taught by a Canadian woman who helps the ladies in the online group with life transitions~death of a loved one, new job, moving, and other losses. The focus of the class is on the middle, or liminal stage of a transition. This is the waiting and being stage of loss which can be uncomfortable for some, and not necessarily a time or place which society understands or supports. Its the time of not doing. But rather listening and reflecting.
The topic the first week was on standing at the threshold. The teacher, Kristen Roderick, shared the following Joseph Campbell quote with us:
"Joseph Campbell refers to the liminal stage of the journey as initiation, setting in motion a course of events that will change our lives. Campbell says that initiation occurs when someone under takes The perilous journey into the darkness by descending, either intentionally or unintentionally, into the crooked lanes of his own spiritual labyrinth....this is a process of dissolving, transcending or transmuting the infantile images of our personal past.
So, in summary, this stage is rough. And a crazy ride. A crazy, s**** ride at times.
Which is definitely how this loss of my mom has felt at times. It indeed feels like a labyrinth. Being with my mom in her illness to her passing brought me to the center of the labyrinth. And now, in the dark, I am slowly making my way back out.
I can write about all of this now, finally, because I'm making a little forward progress and starting to move forward inch by inch.
For several weeks I was at a loss to who I am.
In a matter of a week I cut my hair short (I like it! No regrets there!),
got new furniture for the living room (very badly needed-old furniture was busting at seams) rearranged all the artwork in the house (Nora helped and we had a lovely time. She had some wonderful insight on where to put things),
got rid of 3 bags of clothes (ones which didn't feel good on my skin. Maybe a little too small or just not totally in love with it?).
Things which brought me great identity in the past did nothing for me now.
That discomfort has passed and in those days I created a space, a living area which I now really love. A space in which to write, light a candle, look at art. Look out the window at the rising sun over Mill Bay.
Last night when I was dusting the my altar area where I have photos, candle and a poem, I saw the picture of my mom. I can't believe shes gone. She can't be gone. My breath shortens. How can this be real, I wonder? Then I see her smile. I take a deep breath to help ease the sudden ache of disbelief in my heart.
Love you mom, love you I whisper. She is right with me, I know.
|The new couch and recliner we are all enjoying so much!|