An early morning brings both bright spring sun and a yard cast of thousands. Softly cooing doves and mocking birds dipping in bird baths like a winged baptism, buzzing bees gather at the womb of purple sage, barking dogs rolling around in freshly cut grass exposing their chubby bells to the open sky, lizards peeking their leathery bobble head out from the shade of old bark trees scoping out droplet of water for first drink. The roses are tender, fragrant, unfolded. The nasturtiums are overflowing and climbing towards the subtle rays of light. Geraniums, mums, lavender, marigolds, zinnia popping with color and candor bringin forth the song of the land that says, “pay attention to me.” It is Spring and everything is waking up. This is the most beautiful show on earth.
I’ve been spending a good deal of time sitting in the center of the Medicine wheel these days. It is a gift to visit this powerful hub as often as I have been, and it has become quite obvious that this is where the pause needed to bring me. At the center of the wheel I can find a rooting in the core of my being that allows me to watch the motions and energies of all directions. It is a safe space teaching me to witness the unpredictable fluctuations of the world without over-reacting or over-engaging. It is a place that allows me to feel. It is a place that allows me to heal. The wheel reminds me of the interconnectivity of all beings, the flowing cycle of life, death, rebirth. These are the very blueprints of nature, a nature to which we are born and never separate from, a nature that we must return to with understanding and reverence.
Just North of the wheel runs a wild patch of desert flowers and shrubs, towering yucca and poisonous datura, magical mugwart and lanky mallow surrounding the tomb-stump of our beloved China Berry. I spent many meditations with that tree and mourned her profound presence in my life (yes, a tree, read prior blogs about her and you will see). Despite our gracious rains, I am sure that it was my tears that sprouted new life around her. I am joyed to see her engulfed in bright heughs and vibrant greens, a graveyard of renewal risen from her remains.
At the time she was cut down I was not fully able to see the beautify that would come from the loss. I was not able to see the field of life she would later provide. I only saw death. I could only focus on what she once was and what she had represented. As I contemplated her story and the story of all things in life, I was overwhelmed with grief. Sadness and fear grabbed at by breath at squeezed hard as my mind wandered to current events. Thoughts of my children’s future, my families health, friends who have recently lost family members, friends who are battling cancer alone in isolation, friends who are working in hospitals, those who are losing jobs and homes and faith in their world and leaders. Some days are easier than others in redirecting my attention to a deep trust in the process of life. This is why is sit in the wheel, so that I never doubt the higher order of nature’s intelligence. I might not like or understand the devastation or disaster that comes in life but I accept that it is the inevitable way of life.
Today, I accept that I must also trust grief. I will not push it away. I will be honest with it. I will give myself to it.
We are all bewildered and grieving life as we know it. We are all facing the reality that there is no going back. There is no resuscitating the world to what it once was. We must loosen the grip and say goodbye to a life that can no longer support us. We are learning how to courageously lean into the unknown while reinforcing the unshakable roots that bind us in resilient ideology and forward thinking. We are shaking the ineffective foundations that prevent our growth and we, even with the mounting and inevitable loss, will prevail. Nature will find a way. We are at the cusp of new season; we are at the sharp and painful edge of a new era. It is time for change.
Today is a day that I let the gravity of grief have a home in my heart.
Today is a day that my tears will bring forth new vision for new life, just like rain to seed.
I will return to the wheel to find my center and to find my union with the process of life. And if this storm shall take me, so be it. You’ll find me in the flowers.
Blessing, Aho, Namaste
Robin Afinowich
