Learning to rest with what is

Expanding into the possibility of that tender place of ease inside the fire of grief

Jax, resting between my legs as he often did when I laid in Savasana. True to his nature, my little teacher invited me to rest longer. Photo taken June 8, 2022.

The teachings of Yoga say peace is our true nature, a constant in our core. However, the cooling canopy of ease often hides when we are in the throes of suffering, in the flames of excruciating pain, loss, grief, and the confusion and conditions of our minds.

Many of us do our best to distract away from pain, as facing it and truly feeling the intensity of the weight can feel daunting and disturbing. 

But what would happen if we allowed ourselves to soften into the pain? Even that can feel scary as we may wonder if we will ever find our way back out. 

When we practice soothing the smoldering ache of loss and allow ourselves to explore gently and lovingly what it feels to hurt, we can skillfully learn to extinguish the intensity of the blaze and touch that place of quiet stillness and learn to carry our own impossible grief.

With one small move, one tiny shift of attention, one long exhale, we open the possibility to that tender place of ease inside the fire of grief. 

I often wonder what it would feel like to relax into pain and allow grace to flood the empty spaces of my broken heart.

Would I begin again to taste the sweetness of life?  

I still have yet to accept the sudden way Jax's body suffered and deteriorated so quickly during the last 32 hours of his life, putting me in an impossible position. I had no choice but to put his body to rest, forcing me into the fire of resistance and anguish. 

It was not what I had hoped for, not what I planned, not what I manifested for him and us. But the hard truth is we don't always get what we want. 

Acknowledging this confession, I feel the gravity of emotion, a sudden shrinking in my chest, and a tightening in my throat.

Last year, in my weekly Wisdom Wednesdays class, my teacher asked us to clarify three words that identify with our soul. Words that inspire and influence our actions and reactions. Words that support us in aligning and aspiring in relationships with ourselves, others, and life. A signifier of what is most meaningful and mindful recognition of how we wish to orientate to each choice and moment of the day. 

My words and aspiration: embrace, rest, and joy; *resting* with what is. 

What is the expression of embrace, to willingly rest in a difficult or unpleasant situation?

When I think of resting with what is, I think of Jax. He was the king of rest, as most cats are.

One of the beautiful things about animals is the natural and intuitive way they know what you need and their ability to be with what is. It was he who I would sit with, to hold me in my pain. He was my stability when I was uncomfortable, afraid, and alone. With his purr on my chest, he listened, witnessed, and relaxed into the moment. What was empty in words was full of space, silence, grace, and gentleness. 

True to form, it would be Jax who, in those last few moments of his beating heart, came to sit in my lap for one last time to hold me in my pain once again. My anchor to face the unbearable and uncomfortable truth of ending the life of a being that I never imagined living without. My heart was afraid, my hands trembled, and my body shook, but I was not alone.

Remembering our love, the tenderness and caring nature of his soul, I feel pressure behind my eyes and allow the salty water to soothe the fire of my sorrow. Expanding into the peaceful pause and prayer, knowing Jax rests with me always, my anchor on the other side. 

With sincere and consistent practice, our aspirations and desired ways of being begin to get under our skin and soak into our tissues, bones, and cells. Until one day, the practice works its way into our core, and like the effortless way blood and air flow, the practice offers the gift of embodiment. 

When we practice holding presence with our ache leaning into what feels supportive and easy, we learn to embrace without struggle and begin to rest with the reality of what is. In the calm waters of our mourning, we learn to bathe in the relief of our healing.

Some days have a little more rest in them.

Sometimes an otherwise ordinary day aligns in such a way that I feel the recognition of my soul's words and the warm embrace of death and sorrow. 

Some days have a little more struggle in them. 

Sometimes I resist the truth of his passing and witness the torment in my mind. I practice holding myself in the utmost care in those moments. I am honest and do not force acceptance. Instead, I say a little prayer. I release an innocent wish that one day I will be able to embrace the way his body left this earth. But until that day comes, I will offer my suffering the balm of compassion. 

And when that compassion finds me, my heart will have a chance to begin to rest with what is. 

This piece was initially drafted on August 21, 2022, a little over two months after Jax died, June 13, 2022, and almost two months since my father died, June 23, 2022. It was written on day twelve of a 30-day grief writing program I was participating in. My grief was fresh and very much alive and on fire. As I reflect today, and as I edited this piece, the fire in my heart has simmered, but as I wrote, some days have more struggle, the flames are blazing, and some days have more rest. I am still learning to live without Jax and my dad. I hope my words offer a soothing balm to your grief, no matter where you are in the process.

Grief is a way of being, and I carry it with me each day; it is often the lens I witness life through and how I remember what is most important.

Prompt

Inspiration for this piece came from the following passage:

"...As we breathed into the truth of what had happened in our lives, safe in the protective community we built together, we began to discover that the unbearable became bearable, that by whispering "yes" instead of screaming "no," an ineffable grace began to fill the space of our shattered hearts. Soon, not only could we carry our own impossible grief, but from there, it was a small move to take in the pain of the whole world and offer our own most tender prayer of peace." Mirabai Starr

What would need to happen to feel safe or stable enough to soften into your pain? What is your definition of resting with what is?

You might begin by writing with one of the following:

·       grace began to fill the space of our shattered hearts

·       carry our own impossible grief

·       offer our own most tender prayer of peace

Start with one of these, or choose any other place in the passage above or from my piece that speaks to you. Allow the pen to take the lead and trust the flow of the words ready to be shared.

Grab a pen and paper or your favorite journal. Set your timer. Write for 15 minutes, pen never leaving the page. See what words flow.

Comment if you try. I would love to hear about your journey and experience with intuitive flow writing!

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