Hold loosely expectations while on pilgrimage, for the road is not smooth. Photo taken in the Lake District, England, April 2019 by anne richardson while on sojourn.
If Not A Pause, What Season Is This?
I enter the pool like a love letter being slipped into an envelope. The water sealing my body in coolness the first lap. Back and forth in meditative flow for close to an hour. This was my pre-pandemic ritual each weekday morning. On March 16th, I allowed my body to kiss the water a few extra minutes sensing the pool would be closing for a month, maybe two, as rumors of a statewide shelter-in-place order swirled in the news. Last week I noted the four-month mark had passed since my last swim. Four months and counting since my daily rhythm has shifted. I sighed in recognition that water would not be embracing me anytime soon.
Winter was in its final exhale as my state went into its initial “shutdown” phase. I settled into the “pause,” grateful to have a rest from the day-to-day expectations I place upon myself. But as the pause has stretched into something more expansive and winter transitioned into spring and now one-third of the way through summer, being in a state of “pause” no longer feels like an appropriate name for this space.
Season Of Accumulating Losses
Some never experienced a pause as the weeks fall into months: those living on the margins, those with children trying to navigate some sort of schooling/childcare options, those in healthcare or other jobs deemed essential working on the front lines. What, I wonder, would they name this space. This season.
There are those of us with privilege waking up to racial injustice (that would be me.) And those who are simply weary and wanting a return to the “old way.” There are those unsure how to navigate these times or where they fit in. Do any of us have a name for this season?
I would offer that no matter how these times have impacted you, loss is present. So a season of loss may be what is encompassing us all.
The scent of loss is in the air. photo by anne richardson.
Will There Be A Container Vast Enough To Hold The Grief?
Being with multiple losses and the grief that arises takes time and energy. However for some right now, it is about survival. Taking time to acknowledge losses and to grieve may be something longed for, but to divert energy away from surviving, well grieving may have to wait. For others recognizing what has been lost may just be coming to light. Tangible losses, such as deaths of loved ones, prolonged illness, and economic instability are obvious. But there are the intangible losses such as a lost sense of safety, predictability, comfort, or beliefs about how the world works that are lingering on the edges.
So much loss you can smell it in the air if you take a moment to pull down your mask (in a safe place) and inhale. It’s overpowering like the jasmine’s pungent sweetness floating through my neighborhood these days…it’s too much. Sickly sweet. Have you noticed it too? Do you wonder what will happen when all the loss settles and coats the ground? If there will be a container vast enough, strong enough to hold all the grief?
When we are at a place of threshold, the way ahead is not clear. photo by anne richardson
Question For My Mentor, Grief
Is there a container vast and strong enough to hold all the grief—local, countrywide, global? That is a question I pose to my Mentor, Grief. (The answer is “yes,” so be hopeful.) And I ask, “What can you teach me so I may be of service to others?” Though the answer is not fully formed, this is what is coming into shape as summer continues to unfold. It primarily involves my role as a healer in this season of compounding losses and the grief that accompanies loss. To be present at the place of threshold. Of transformation…for that is what Grief asks of us. To be transformed.
Those places of threshold…those between times. As I have written about previously, my sojourn in spring 2019 was a threshold event and upon my return I felt disoriented. That space between who I was and who I was becoming was unknown terrain and the path was not clear. I couldn’t know what would be revealed. I was a pilgrim. A wanderer in a new landscape.
Pilgrimage: A Time Of Thresholds And Vulnerability
It is said that long ago one kind of a pilgrimage, or “peregrinate,” were monks who would set out in a small boat with no rudder, sails, or oars and trusted where the currents led them (here is a song that shares one such journey: https://abbeyofthearts.bandcamp.com/track/peregrine.) Pilgrimage is, in its essence, about letting go and trusting the journey. Being vulnerable. Shushing the ego and listening to a deeper wisdom. Even if there is a “destination” in mind that too must be released if the desire is to experience transformation. (Note that most religions have pilgrimages as part of their traditions and the value of going on a pilgrimage has morphed over into spiritual practice for those who don’t follow a particular religion, but that would be a discussion for another blog.)
Grief Guide For Pilgrims
Now when I turn and look at the path behind me, I can see it has prepared me for these unsettled days, something I could not have anticipated a year ago. As one who is has experienced pilgrimage, perhaps I am able to stand in the space between what is dying (literally, metaphorically, and in so many other ways) and what is being birthed. To be a pilgrim guide to those ready to reflect on loss. Ready to grieve. To welcome those who are arriving at the threshold. As one experienced in working with those in the midst of grief, I am able to offer assurance that having no clear path ahead that, while disconcerting, is okay. There is no right or wrong way to be with grief, and at some point transitions end and a new way of being begins.
Medieval symbol for pilgrims outside of Chartres Cathedral in France. photo by anne richarson
“Traveler, your footprints
are the only road, nothing else.
Traveler, there is no road;
you make your own path as you walk.
As you walk, you make your own road,
and when you look back
you see the path
you will never travel again.
Traveler, there is no road;
only a ship’s wake on the sea.”
Always A Pilgrim
I acknowledge during these unsettled times I am once again a pilgrim, though this pilgrimage is internal as I pass through portals within that have me reflecting even more deeply on my own beliefs, falling more readily into trust, and letting go of what no longer serves me. What do I still “need” versus what are “wants?” How do I “be” in these shifting spaces? No rudder, no sail, no oars. Just trusting the currents.
Actually, I think the gift of aging is, in some ways, I get to be a perpetual pilgrim.
What If You Didn’t Ask To Go On A Pilgrimage?
I also have this thought. One typically chooses to be a pilgrim. Chooses to set off on the journey. But I haven’t come across anyone who asked for the pandemic to interrupt their life. And, while yes, racial inequality has been part of my country’s DNA since its founding, those of us who have been comfortably ignorant didn’t ask to be shaken awake (grateful though I am.) So is pilgrimage the best word for the journey many are on now? Perhaps you feel like you are an exile in your own land or your own body. You are being dragged toward this threshold, ready or not. Maybe it is all too much and for now seeking shelter for a while longer to garner strength for the journey ahead is where you are today. Where you are is where you need to be. Simply listen. You’ll know when it is too painful to stay stationary. When you need to take that first step.
Each Day A New Pilgrimage
As I slip on my shoes in the morning and head out the door, it is cool air and bird song that wraps my body now, not water. And though the path I walk is similar each day, each day is unique as flowers closed one day are opened the next while others have cast off petals. Crows molt their feathers, gifts I collect along the way. And tiny ferns spring from the moss embedded in the side of my Sister trees like a summer surprise.
Who will I be when summer transitions to autumn and 2020 to 2021? That path is being created moment by moment as I walk. For now, each morning I offer gratitude for first breaths. Each morning I begin a new pilgrimage.
in gratitude,
anne
PS. Gratitude for poet David Whyte and the series “A Road Always Beckoning,” which I am in the midst of and offered some of the inspiration for this piece.
For Your Reflection
Have you taken time to tally what you have lost since March of this year? Make a list. Nothing is “too small.” Example: Not being able to hug your friends. Not being able to get a haircut. Cancelled family reunion. Fractured family relationships due to political differences. Wasn’t with ____ when they died. Laid off from work. Once you have the list, just sit with it in a way that is meaningful to you and acknowledge your losses. You don’t have to “do” anything unless you feel a desire to.
Have you ever been on a pilgrimage? (I’ll let you define that. Hint: You don’t need to leave your physical home to go on one.) What surprised you about the journey? What did you discover about yourself? Does the metaphor of being a pilgrim during this unsettled time feel appropriate to you? If not, what word or metaphor would you use?
What does vulnerability look like to you? What emotional response do you have to that word?
Francis Weller, MA, MFT says “Gratitude is the other hand of grief.” What, if anything, are you grateful for today?
The standard question: What are old ways of coping that are still working for you? Try not to judge them as “good or bad.” Just notice how they help you through the day. What is no longer working? And, have you found any new ways of coping? As always, please be gentle and kind as you reflect.
Work With Me
Are you interested in exploring your losses? Ready to go on a pilgrimage with your grief? Need a guide during this threshold time? Contact me and let’s talk about how having a spiritual companion can be part of your journey. Further information about what a spiritual director/companion is on my webpage.
