95. Stop. Breathe. Grieve

BLOG 95—(present reflections tied to May 2001 journal entries about my healing journey)—I received a text, followed by the local news last Thursday evening: our New Mexico schools would close for three weeks.

As a teacher, I was relieved. After all, the schools, especially at this time of the year, had already become a cesspool of germs, and with the Corona Virus it was just one too many unknowns to deal with. But when I read the news of schools closing, I was hit with a much bigger emotion: GRIEF. I felt like I had tapped into a collective unconscious energy, and my own part in it.

The grief I felt was like a soft wind or water that filled in every crevice of my being that remained with me briefly. Then, like everyone else, I joined in the frenetic activities of hoarding food, medicine, and whatever else we needed to disappear into our shelters that would protect us from this germ war. And I called friends, checked the news, and kept abreast of the latest updates.

But the grief remained, and when I slowed down, I could feel it again. I felt the grief of the world, for thosef96a6e2d7f02c7d8ff8870bc78acbbfb sick and dying, for those without the resources and friends to help them through this, for the emptiness we would feel, and for all of our lives forever altered. I sensed a kind of death, an end–for now–to all the running and running of this world. And inside this space, I  felt we would need to look at ourselves, and reflect on what this crazy modern-living paradigm has been all about.

Beyond this, I felt a deep grief for having lived a kind of isolation myself–like we are now–during the years when I was injured at the turn of the millennium. And the fear that came from not being able to walk—the fear of never being able to get up again. Of being so alone with my pain in a culture where people had forgotten what it was like to show up for one another. Back then, I was struck with a quote that Mother Teresa had given: “The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved.” I understood that sentiment so4f865970620477a06fa460b11d092950 strongly. There wasn’t time for most people to check in, to see how I was, to have compassion for someone in a vulnerable place. And so, back then, 20 years ago, I stepped into my own cocoon, into my own aloneness, and reached out to God for answers that would help me walk again.

In 2001, I had written in my journal about how scared I had been to go to sleep after I received Reiki energy treatments from my shamanic teacher. Because, afterwards, I would have nightmares. The subconscious part of my body would rise up to the surface and tell its story woven into my cells from this lifetime and others. I would wake up, surprised to be alive, after nightmares that included frightening episodes of being unsafe and under attack.

The fear I held back then, which I imagine many feel now, is that the world would never be the same again. 26d6623374ea9f6f7fc065b0f2374f12And it won’t. But, I discovered then, as I feel now, that the GRIEF, that energy below the fear, which I carried, was of having been on the treadmill of life far too long, and feeling an immense loss of soul and self from all of the going, going, going. And in this process of slowing down—whether then or now—there’s this immense grief of being with ourselves, of truly being with ourselves—with the pain, the nightmares, the stories our soul and body long to tell us, to guide us through, so we can come home again.

This grief of what we have left behind has been carried down from our ancestors. It’s a grief for the loneliness and aloneness, for the lack of human compassion and community, for having lost our way without a sense of place or true origin. It’s a GRIEF that longs to bring us home, inside the quiet, away from the noise that has distracted us too long and caused us to do such harm to ourselves and the planet. That’s the Grief that needs to cry itself back onto this precious earth, to fill her with our tears and love, so we can be home, in balance with her and this beautiful life we’ve been given. And this is the time.

My Novel, Child of Duende: A Journey of the Spirit, is a story of returning home to the earth inside and all around us. It’s now available in Spanish as Niña Duende: Un Viaje del Espiritu, that’s available on Amazon at Amazon Page or at www.michelleadam.net. It will soon be published by the Spanish publisher Corona Borealis and the Portuguese publisher, Edições Mahatma. It can be ordered at a local bookstore or directly from me (for those outside of the U.S.) as well. Also, watch a brief video on “duende”, “the spirit of the earth”: YouTube Video

11 thoughts on “95. Stop. Breathe. Grieve

  1. Our duality most certainly keeps that aloneness as a key part of our journey Michelle. But as hard as it is, it is that balance to where we must go, that ever nudge to go past those fears and come home to where all that love and happiness we have ever looked for is gently waiting within to be found.
    Great post kind lady, may this ‘nudge’ we are now getting break us further free from that grief to see that path inward 😀 ❤️ 🙏🏽 🦋

    Liked by 2 people

    • Mark, thank you for your presence, your echo in my writing. Blessings to you, and may we all join in a shared grief-filled, love-filled, gratitude-filled song of the earth that unites us and brings much-needed balance back to our lives.

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Our world is different. No-one is on the road, the streets are silence. Time for us to read, write and watch the movies we missed. I have called people, I rarely called. Time for kindness, concern and to be safe. Our world had changed overnight. I hope we learn. The world is one and we must help the people, countries in need. We could be lonely. In the world of new communication. Maybe we can keep in touch, teach the children on line. I hope you are doing well. Be safe.

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      • Thank you for asking, Michelle. I’m hanging in there. I like solitude but this is a bit much! However, I know there are silver linings and that God is making all things new. Staying at home gave me the opportunity to do a Facebook Live mini concert the other night…something I’ve wanted to do but felt uncomfortable about. So this “new normal” is giving us all opportunities if we are awake. How about you?

        Liked by 1 person

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