Breath Awakens

I dreamed about my dead mother a couple of weeks ago. She was in a retirement home and I was talking to the administrator about signing her up for hospice. This being a dream, it wasn’t going smoothly. I was wandering down hallways and couldn’t find her. Finally, I noticed her lying on a couch in a common area with dingy windows and a scattering of tables and chairs. She was wearing a stocking cap the color of coastal fog, a flannel nightdress covering her legs and a turquoise robe keeping her warm. She was facing the back of the couch, but as I approach, she turns toward me. I lower my face to hers and she blows into my mouth and laughs as if to say, “I gave you life once, I can do it again.” I awake startled.

Deepening Breaths

Breath. I’ve been pondering breath/air/wind since that dream. What it meant that my mother (and what/who she represented) blew breath into me. What breath means when we enter this world and when we depart. The difference between the word “breath” and “breathe,” which has a deepening context in light of “I can’t breathe” being the last words of George Floyd. One light as spirit, the other, with the addition of an “e” on the end becomes heavy and a command.

Considering the Invitation: To See “Breathe” in New Light

I consider all the times I invite people to “breathe” with me as a way to relax and meditate or am asked to do the same. To “breathe deep into your body” as suggestion. The comment that we are “shallow breathers” in our rush, rush world. The understanding that taking in deep, purposeful breaths expands and feeds our bodies and “don’t we want to expand?” All wise and well intentioned. And now wondering if the word “breathe” could be a trigger for some. When the phrase “I can’t breathe,” both literally and figuratively, is how the black, brown and indigenous members of our society have shown us they live day-to-day, then the simple request to “sit quietly and breathe deeply” may not be an invitation to relax, but a reminder of a history to not breathe too deeply, to not take up space, to not expand your body and be seen.

Griefs Asks This Apprentice: Look Deep Within At My Own Racism

This post has been a struggle, a series of fits and starts as I lean into where racism lies within me. In being radically honest with myself in looking at where I harbor institutionalized biases. But my mentor Grief tells me that until I dive deep into my part in maintaining the structures in place, I’ll never be able to grieve what has been lost. Our country cannot grieve what has been lost. And so I begin to mourn the friendships I never had because I grew up in predominately white neighborhoods. I mourn the blandness of my educational experiences, my work environments, the missed opportunities for a kinder, collaborative society because so much energy was spent oppressing “the other.” I grieve the times I hurt someone of color, even if was not intended and out of ignorance because I have been bound by deep tissue beliefs. And I grieve the harm done to the land because we did not listen to, did not try to learn from, the indigenous peoples how to be with the land. And this from someone who is first generation American. Whose family does not have a long history in “the States.” Simply being raised white in this country embedded racism in me.

Death: Sacred Leaving of Breath

And what of breath. Of air. Of wind. Back to my dream. My mother has been dropping into my dream world often these days. I see her has an archetypal figure: The Mother. One who is nurturing, protective of her children, powerful, giver of life. I don’t believe it is a coincidence that the novel-Coronavirus primarily inhibits our ability to breathe. And that the protests were sparked by “I can’t breathe.” And that our Earth, embraced by invisible air that can now be “seen” due to pollution, is struggling to breathe.

When we are born, our first instinctive act is to breathe. Holy. And when we die, the last thing we do is exhale. Holy. Our lives and the life of this earth are wrapped around breath. The Mother has come to me, I hope to assure me, that she can revive our collective breath.

In many traditions breath and wind are equated with Spirit, Life Force, or the Spirit of the God. I had a profound experience on my sojourn last year when, while I was overlooking the Irish Sea, the wind wrapped around me and spoke to me in the language of wind. It was a sacred moment. The more I ponder breath and the act of breathing. Of taking in the outer world into my body through the inhale and releasing it back out through the exhale, something our body does instinctually, the more I am considering this a sacred act. When I had the honor of sitting with someone whose death was a natural process and the last exhale left their body, that always felt like a sacred witnessing. And so when George Floyd said “I can’t breathe,” there was a witnessing of something sacrileges as he was denied his natural breath. A desecration. Is that not something we all need to grieve?

Risk: Another Kind of Threshold

My blogs aren’t designed to be political (though I suppose on some level all writings are.) I write about grief and loss. About life transitions, thresholds, journey, spirituality. Maybe it is the space I am in that says “risk it,” posting this blog. The combination of having less distractions due to sheltering-in-place (I still spend most days home even with the gradual lifting of restrictions,) the depth of reading I’ve taken on, the global grief of the virus that seeps through the air in into my lungs, the tears falling over the deaths of black people and the voices rising in protest that permeate my newsfeed, my own long morning walks and spending more time in nature where I feel a deep spiritual connection, has launched me into an internal free-fall of vulnerability (not to be mistaken for the vulnerability of those whose lives are at risk as they protest, or even exist in their skin.)

Vulnerability

I was already exploring vulnerability when I signed up for “Just Beyond Yourself, The Poetry of Robust Vulnerability,” a series with poet David Whyte. The word vulnerability, David shared, was “…ultimately derived from the Latin vulnus, meaning “wound.” So in risking vulnerability I basically opened myself up to wounding as I said “yes” to shedding yet another part of the mask I’ve created as protection. As Whyte says in his poem “The Bell And The Blackbird,” “The sound/of a bell/still reverberating,//or a blackbird/calling/from a corner/of the field.//Asking you/to wake/into this life/or inviting you deeper/to one that waits.//Either way/takes courage,/either way wants you/to be nothing/but that self that/is no self at all.” (click on link to read the entire poem.)

I’m not even sure if this makes sense, because, like a bird in the midst of moulting, or a snake shedding old skin, what is formed underneath is not clear. And in this space of internal free-fall, it feels like cool air coming up from a well encompasses me, but I have no idea how deep the well is.

Airing Wounds Leads to Healing

Courage, David Whyte writes. I don’t know that I feel courageous, but I do feel called to keep shedding and allowing the wind to carry away my old layers so I can’t pick up the tattered pieces and try to sew them back together. To keep breathing…and exploring what breath means not just to myself, but in a larger context. How breathing can lead to healing. How listening to the exhale of those who have been marginalized can educate me as I inhale their stories.

The Gift of Thriving Together

And, since I am an apprentice of not only Grief, but of the Earth, let me share one last thing. In my neighborhood, they are replacing grass strips with meadow. Grass, a monoculture, takes water and mowing and an abundance of resources. And while I suppose it can look nice in its sameness, it isn’t natural to the environment.

The meadow, on the other hand, has been a delight to watch change through the spring. A variety of flowers and clover, the magic of bees pollinating, variations of green. Is it obvious where I am going with this? Not only is one better for the environment but is an example of thriving together, not using energy to maintain an ineffective or even harmful system. Of course, underneath the meadow strips is a larger story of the land of the original peoples who lived here. But that’s a blog of loss for another day.

There is more I am pondering. Wondering. But I will leave it here for now. Covid-19 is still present. We all have choices to make about how to move forward and how to reengage in this new world. There will be loss involved (perhaps not yet recognized) just in case you were wondering. And, should you choose, there is the invitation to explore your own beliefs about racism (here is a link to an article I found helpful as a white woman: 75 Things White People Can Do For Racial Justice.) This on top of what you might have on your own individual plates. So, as always, be kind and gentle to yourself…and to others.

Thank you for reading.
and, as always, in gratitude,
anne

For Your Reflection

• Interesting! This was in last month’s reflection questions. It feels different now as I look at it. How about for you? Check-in with your body. How is your breathing? Can you take as a deep breath as you can in and then out? How does the air feel that you are taking it into your body? If you can step outside, breath in the outdoor air and just notice how your body is responding.

• Here it is written in a new light: An invitation: Sit in a quiet space (or as quiet as you can find) and listen to your own breath. What do you notice? Place you hand under your nose. In front of your mouth. On top of your belly as you inhale and exhale. What do you notice? What feelings arise? Consider checking in on your breathing at different times of the day and repeating this invitation. Have you ever had a time you couldn’t breathe? Was that like for you?

• What is sacred to you at this moment in time? For me I shared that breathing is a sacred act. Does that resonate for you or did you have a different response? What do the words “I can’t breathe” mean (or trigger) in you?

• When you think about “re-entering” the world as restrictions are lifted, what feelings come up? How are you preparing? Perhaps you have been working as an “essential” person. How are you coping?

• 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.

• What internal beliefs about racism have you reflected on currently and in the past? How would it feel to challenge them?

Online—The Labyrinth: Ancient Archetype, Modern Metaphor for Journeying Through Grief

I am honored to be offering this presentation through NW Association of Death Education and Bereavement Support (NW ADEBS) in conjunction with the Lewis & Clark Center for Community Engagement.

Details: July 9th, 11:30-1:30 PDT

We all experience grief and loss in life, from the time we leave the nurture of the womb to the leaving of our body at the end of our life, with many other losses, small and large, along the way.

American society has shied away from healthy grief in favor of quick fixes leaving many with unresolved grief lingering in silence just below the surface, waiting for a chance to be heard.

The labyrinth, an ancient archetype representing the metaphor of journey, provides a safe container to reflect on loss.

Presenter Anne M. Richardson, Chaplain, MA, BCC is a Certified Veriditas Labyrinth facilitator and experienced professional who uses the labyrinth in her work with individuals and groups. In this experiential online workshop, Anne will share how the aspect of having a container to “hold” experiences and emotions, while also having the freedom to walk the labyrinth at one’s own pace and without a “right or wrong way”, can allow those grieving to be on their journey without judgement. 

Following the workshop, participants will have learned:

• A brief history of the labyrinth, including what it is and why this ancient archetype is relevant today

• How the labyrinth has been effective in helping those experiencing grief to cope and find meaning on their grief journey

• Research on labyrinths as a tool for meditation and relaxation to help clients/patients experiencing anxiety and other emotional highs and lows.

• Participants will learn ways to apply the labyrinth as a tool for their own self care

During the experiential portion of this workshop, participants will be guided through a “walk” using a downloadable printout of a finger labyrinth (available upon registration) enabling them to understand the labyrinth as a tool to use both physically and as metaphor with clients and for their own self-care.

NW Association for Death Education & Bereavement Support is a nonprofit organization that exists to promote quality death education and bereavement support for professionals and the greater community.

Please note: Registration for this workshop will close one week prior to start date.

Registration Rates:

Noncredit: $30, includes 2 CEUs. Alumni save 20%
Northwest Association for Death Education and Bereavement Support Members: Free. 2 CEUs available for $20. ( View NWADEBS membership information.)

Students and L&C Staff: Free Lewis & Clark School Based Mentors and Supervisors: Free

Spiritual Direction

If you are interested in having the gift of deep listening as you journey through this time of transition, grief and loss, I have space available for new directees. I am currently meeting folks virtually. Please check out my spiritual direction page for information on my philosophy or contact me if you are interested in finding out more.