Tag Archives: Grief

The Search for Water…

THE LONG HOT SUMMER

At rise, inside a 1960s apartment building.  Hundred-degree days, a waning water supply and the dire need to stay in a creative space, the protagonist gathers the almost empty bottles; she pours them into one bottle, scavenges for more in bags around her home.  She can make it to the day before payday if she rations herself…  Inside an old purse she finds a five-dollar bill stuck between two receipts.  PROTAGONIST breaks out in a victory dance, slow and off beat, dehydration is cruel.

PROTAGONIST (singing)

HOT DAMN, WATER, WATER

WHAT? WHAT? WATER, WATER

                           (pause)

——–

I could have never imagined that the world would start to have hints of the BIRD BOX or the BOOK OF ELI real time and that in the midst of “working from home,” the competing stress factor would be water or the lack thereof.  So yes, I danced around a bit then promptly left for the store to restock.

The dehydration lasted a few days longer than expected, symbolically tied to the minimal writing I have been doing.  My whole self has been crying out for community…  I took a webinar on grief through Hedgebrook just for that reason.  The Webinar, “The Sixth Stage: Possibilities for Awe and Wonderment When Writing Grief” with Idrissa Simmonds-Nastili, and its ‘holding space’ was a profoundly refreshing experience.  Hedgebrook offers a lot of webinars that can be a source of gathering during this time.  This was my first one which I took on grief because I seem to be living there as of late.  Grief encompasses real estate like a swarm of bees heading home to the honeycomb looking for the sweet refuge of its cavernous walls.  Hovering over loss like a tornado, it’s the bitch that won’t go away easily, not without a fight, not without drawing the last bit of blood.  With the death of one of my cousins and one of my dear friends, my body which has been keeping score has begun to scream, “do over, do over.”  There’s no such pleasure…

What’s left is what’s left. Or, is there a way to change something – some part – of this madness?

Maybe the do over is in the expelling of the stinger and the adding of salve and alcohol.  It does help when you write about it.  Even when there’s so much of it that it can fill two lifetimes, writing moves it on it way.

I am missing the pieces of me frozen in the walls, my fingers and toes have started tingling, waking up, moving, they don’t know there’s no such thing as do over’s.  Maybe I won’t tell them, maybe I’ll just wait and see if this leads to deep welled water… deeper than this grief. Maybe it’s flowing upward from underground just waiting for me to believe so it can burst forth…

There is a wonderful article “Letter from Oakland: Black Motherhood in Sleepless Times by Idrissa Simmonds-Nastili on the Literary Hub site at https://lithub.com/letter-from-oakland-black-motherhood-in-sleepless-times/

The Unseen Worlds – A Quickening

By:  Analyn

I needed a lifeline and a buoy to stay afloat and to anchor myself to another reality of some sort.

The therapist recalled that I stood out from the crowd because he saw that I was in a deep trance.  I wondered perhaps if my consistent meditation practice is the reason for this ability to lapse into a different mode.  I booked a private session to address the weight that I had been unable to unload without professional help.  I was tailspinning into a depression over the loss of my husband Bruno Herve Commereuc in a motorcycle accident this past January.  So we begin.

I am lying down comfortably with my eyes closed and listening attentively.  My body is deeply relaxed.  He suggests that I relinquish my analytical left brain and allow my superconscious to take care of everything.  The superconscious knows everything – more than the left-brain modality which sorts, judges and focuses only on what’s at hand, while the right brain has the detailed roadmap to everything the subconscious has recorded.

I am aware that I take deep breaths now and again.  I move my head to release the tension on my neck.  My body is dead weight.  My awareness is acute.  I am tuned in to his every word and other noises in the room and beyond its doors and walls.  I feel the movement and temperature of the surrounding air.  I sense the modulation of his voice and the fine-tuning of my bodily states, mostly heavy and limp and my eyes feel stretched out.  What a strange state of awareness – fully awake and yet, under the spell of a suggestive voice.  I go down an elevator, then I walk down the stairs to a garden.

What is this garden?  The sunlight is softly filtered perhaps by an early morning mist and there’s a tree in the middle.  A pathway surrounds the tree and one by one, my loved ones from previous times appear.  The first to appear is my dog, Chloe.  Not far is my Beloved Bruno.  He wears the shirt I gave him for Christmas in 2014.  He loved that shirt.  Then others appear one by one:  my cousin Sonny, my father Andre, my elderly best friend Helen, Bruno’s father, Christian, whom I never met, Bruno’s friend Hiep, and Bruno’s surrogate mother at the farm in Brittany.  Her name was Helen also.  Then I see David and Valentine – the dog and cat under the fig tree.  After a brief conversation with each one or just looking into each others’ faces, I stand back and watch both sides of our families and friends mingle.  It is a garden party.  I don’t really know what to say or ask them so the therapist suggests to me to ask Bruno what lessons he was supposed to teach me and what did he learn from me.

Bruno to me:  “Take a bite out of life”.  “Don’t live with regrets.”

What he learned from me:  “Sweetness”, “Gentleness”, “Happiness in each others’ company”

This is just the beginning of the journey.  Later I am drifting with a light energy to meet my spiritual guide.  I know his face.  It is also the spiritual guide of Paramahansa Yogananda.  Now I understand why I had an affinity to Sri Yukestewar.  He was in the pages of “Autobiography of a Yogi”.  He was the brightest star in Paramahansa Yogananda’s life.  And I find out now that he too was my karmic spiritual guide.  He had saved me from poverty in the streets of India.  I was an orphan begging at the railway station.  I moved from homelessness to live in his orphanage where I was nourished with food and love.  Then I grew up there and became part of its foundations to help other orphans survive and thrive.

After an hour of past life regresion I come back to 2018 in my body, in the same room where I entered the garden and later I turned  towards the staircase that lead away from the garden.  Upon leaving the garden I said to Bruno “I have to go”.   This is quite the opposite of what had happened in January with his unexpected and sudden death.  This time it is me saying to my Beloved I am going.  I am leaving the realm of the superconscious to return to a shallower realm of the consciousness – the realm of problem-solving, questions (lots of it), judgements, loneliness and occasional breakthroughs to the underlying reality that we are all one.  We are energy condensed into matter with a veil of separateness because of ego and free will.

I recognize that it would be hard to convince anyone of you readers about this visceral experience. What led me to this particular path of exploration?  Why?  And where to now?  My deep interest in metaphysics is what attracted me to attend a workshop sponsored by the Edgar Cayce Association for Research and Enlightenment (ARE) with the featured speaker Gregg Unterberger M.Ed, LPC.  The topic was “Edgar Cayce on The Unseen Worlds – Past Lives, Future Lives, the Afterlife”.  The timeliness of this workshop was a god-send for someone like me who needs to tether to another realm of truth for answers to questions that this day-to-day reality cannot provide so readily.  That answers the What and Why.  Where to now?  I have a sense of hope, a lightness of being after being unburdened with the questions.  At least, I had a chance to see and talk to my Beloved (even if perhaps it was in my imagination).  But it was real.  I know it.  I am moving a little more forward and treading the earth a little lighter.  That mountain of grief doesn’t appear so tall and unsurmountable.  There is a path.

On this path I carry a book written by Gregg Unterberger.  The book is titled “The Quickening”.  In my own words it describes proven techniques for spiritual awakening based on scientific research and deep soul searching from an educated and compassionate healer.  From my experience, it is the reality-shattering experiences such as a trauma that can jar a person into waking up from a recurring nightmare of flatlining to ennui or meaninglessness.  I did recognize I needed help and so I reached out for it.  I am grateful that I found this modality of help that is inline with my personal belief system.

If any of this resonates with you then reach out to Gregg Unterberger  at www.GreggUnterberger.com