This summer, I fell to pieces. Not because anything happened. No big life changing unexpected event. I just decided to stop. To wait. To see. Not really understanding why I was doing it, only knowing that I felt at peace in the slowness of life. I turned down…way down. I unplugged and disconnected from the drama of the world. I pulled within.
In lull of things, I became quiet. I lingered among tall salt grass and listened to the native language of the reeds. I drank in sunlight absorbing each ray in hopes it would ignite the fire that had dampened within me. I floated in the ocean wishing that my body would dissolve, I would become the sea and flow freely. Somewhere, in between all of this, the board was lifted from the dam. Flood waters rushed in, spilling over me, and I surrendered.
I allowed for the places to remain open. Choosing not to fill them. To wait and see what lies inside of it, this vacant space. Wind whistled through the cracks, clearing out the dirt and sand from the crevices of my heart. Losses from long ago, resurfaced. Grief washed over me, tugged at my heels, and I thought I would drown. At least, that is always what I thought would happen, if I stopped long enough, that it would devour me. I would not survive.
I was told to invite it in. To acknowledge the pain and have a cup of tea with it. Holding space, allowing it to pass through me. All that time, I fought it, and it battered me. I never stuck around long enough for the miracle. To get to the other side of the pain. To commune with the grief. Strength and peace and gratitude were waiting for me, just beyond the door. And in his grace, it waited for me. The unfinished business of my life and her lessons.
So now, we sit. We drink. We mourn.