The Cycle of Letting Go into Trust in EMYoga #emyoga #yoga #grief

Nature’s 5-pointed starfish. Photo credit: Pixabay

There is a pattern developing in my yoga classes and it centers in the place of the lungs and heart. In the practice of EMYoga (energy medicine yoga), which was created by Lauren Walker based upon the work of Donna Eden, the body is viewed through the lens of the five elements of ancient Chinese medicine. The elements, which correspond with the seasons, can be viewed as a circle, but also a star. I like the symbolism of both. The star within the wheel.

Water reveals winter’s deceptive stasis. Photo credit: Pixabay

Arising out of the element of water, where life is birthed into being, the energy body (for this post’s purpose, the term energy body includes the entire body: physical, emotional and spiritual) is encouraged to move out of the stagnation of fear into the courage of potential. In the watery world of potential, everything is possible as creation stirs into being.

The wood element takes over in spring, bursting potential into growth. Photo credit: Pixabay

Winter’s hidden growth emerges in the springtime, the element of wood, breaking ground in the cycle of rebirth. The energy body can become restless in the element of wood. Angry, even, when growth is not happening fast enough, or not in the way the mind wants it to. Here, the sometimes frenetic energy of springtime can be tempered, like all energy, through the compassion of the heart. Aggression then becomes assertive action as the energy body learns to harness the force of spring for positive action.

Too much fire can wither life. Photo credit: Pixabay

Spring weaves into the energy of summer, where the heat of the sun burns the fires of creation. Too much fire leads to anxiety, as the energy body seeks to dance and move itself in a thousand different ways. An excess of fire leads to burn-out, and so the flames seek also the tempering of the heart of reason and compassion, moving the creative force into the energy of inspiration.

The phase of balance (equinox) or excess (solstice). Photo credit: Pixabay

As summer wanes, the energy body begins to turn inward to the self, seeking reunion with the inner child who represents the true, joy-filled self. It is the time of transition, where the outer begins to move inward again. The element is Earth, residing in the in-between times of the equinox and solstices. Those with an abundance of Earth energy tend to neglect their inner child in favor of excessive giving to others (summer solstice), depleting the self of sunshine (winter solstice). The energy body seeks balance (equinoxes), urging the turning inward to reconnect with and tend to the inner flame. It’s not always easy to do for those who tend to reside within the element of Earth.

An autumn leaf on the verge of letting go opened to the heart. Photo credit: Pixabay

It takes trust, and letting go, and so we move into the final element on the wheel, and the last point on the five-pointed star, which resides in the “season” of autumn. In the northern hemisphere we are in the middle of fall, so it is fitting that my classes seem to keep finding their way to this seasonal elemental focus. Due to the pandemic, though, loss has become universally poignant. Grief feels like a cloud surrounding us, and for some of us it is deeply infused into our energy bodies.

A scattered deck of Tarot with the Wheel of Fortune in the center. Photo credit: Pixabay

So how do we let go into faith and trust? How do we allow the wheel to keep turning to move back into the season of winter and the phase of infinite potential to bring forth new life? It is perhaps the biggest act of faith we can partake in. Surrendering to the unknown, and trusting in an inherent, yet often elusive-feeling of universal love that supports and surrounds us all, is no easy feat for someone who is immersed in the energy of grief. We, as humans, learn to cling to the tangible as we become accustomed to life in the body. We look for safety and security from the touch of others and the comforts of physical objects. When we lose these things, we often linger on the empty feeling of lose and our sense of security becomes threatened. The ancient Chinese medicine element associated with the season of fall is metal. In Tarot, the element is air, but it is often depicted through the metal symbol of the sword as a representation of this very mentally focused season/element.

It takes mental fortitude and a mighty hand to form the sword, as well as to make the choice to use it of to lay it down in surrender. There are two forms of surrender. Defeat and trust. With trust, as we see in the Ace of Swords, the mental energy of the metal/air element gives way its hold to a higher power. Piercing the crown that sits atop the head, it breaks open the energy of the 7th chakra/ or crown chakra, to open to the wisdom of the divine. It is the ultimate surrender of faith. The mind relinquishes its hold on control and trusts that there is a universal plan that arises from the energy of love. A challenge when one suffers profound loss, yet this trust comes with a knowing that death is a natural part of the cycle of life and this season of loss will move, once again, into the infinite potential of creation.

Ace of Swords in the Rider-Waite Deck

Clinging to the Essence of Individual #stillgrieving #grief #loss #sorrow #suevincent #yoga #lifeafterdeath

Image by Wayne Linton from Pixabay : A messenger from my dreams last night

I still weep at least once a day. That is okay. I’d rather the body process and release than trap sorrow.

Each day I open my inbox to see her smiling face framed in a halo of red curls. I click the link to read a memory of her life. It is a gift I sometimes find heart-wrenching, but always soothing. Part of me dreads the day when these posts will disappear. I’m not ready to retrieve the words she wrote for me during our years of correspondence. I am trying not to need them. I am trying to let go of what once was and move into what is.

As my mentor through the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, she taught me about the mysteries of what we call “life.” All those illusions we hold onto that bind the larger truth called “union.” You’d think I’d know better. I stand before my own students and teach union. Together we practice yoga, which translates into “union.” On our individual mats, we move the energy of the body to release what binds, while focusing the breath on what unites. Together, and individually, we create union. Or should I say reunion. Sometimes it is more accessible as a concept than it is to practice.

Knowing that she is now in all things is not yet enough for me to find a steady state of solace. I search out the essence of her that lingers in the words she wrote, reading each post that appears in my inbox. It matters little that I’ve read most of them before. Each one brings a fresh wave of her magic.

This is what I am missing most these days. The magic that felt uniquely hers. We may be sparks of the same light, but through the process of our individuality, this light morphs into personalities that cannot be replicated or mimicked. I have convinced myself she is irreplaceable, and of course she is. It is now that she might remind me that I should not look for a replacement. That this is both futile and unnecessary. She would tell me that she has not disappeared, but everywhere.

It is true. When I walk outside she is the woodpecker calling me home. At night, her love pours out of the curl of the cat nestled into my legs. In all moments of stillness she is the soft dance inside each cell. I am familiar with this transfer of love. I have felt it in other losses. But it is not yet enough.

The Soft Emptiness of a Liminal Place #loss #death #grief #grieving

I am already missing her and she is not wholly gone. When I search for her presence, I find the soft emptiness of the liminal place. Holding. Waiting. I don’t want to think about grief, again. A prolonged letting go that takes me on a journey to uncomfortable landscapes. We grasp at the tangible only to discover that we will eventually reach the cliff of letting go, not knowing when we will arrive there.

And sometimes there is no liminal place to linger.

It is a test to step into the space of soft uncertainty and feel the soul cocooned between the life and death of the temporary vessel. I do not want to think about pain and heartache. Those sitting beside her, holding the space. Holding her hand. I do not want to think of the labored breath before it breaks free. Pain seems incredibly unfair for a life filled with such grace.

I want to think of what came before and what comes after. That vibrant spirit that touched so many lives with magic, including my own, finding joy once again. Yes, I want to think of joy. The unbound soul flying free.

The liminal place, I’ve decided is not a place of easy comfort. It is a place of searching through what keeps us bound, and what must be released to let go. It reminds us of what we hold, even when it is wrapped by love. And it reminds us that we can doubt the eternal as a condition of being human.

For me it feels uncomfortably empty even though it is filled with all that binds. It feels like a void. It feels like sadness before the final wave of grief that will eventually bring the joy of release without knowing how large and fierce that wave will be before it breaks.