It Takes a Village

Been feeling an intense amount of collective grief over the past couple days... after the devastating earthquakes right in the spiritual center of Nepal. My heart breaks for all of those who have lost loved ones beneath the rubble of collapsed buildings. There is a stillness here on the West coast where I live, even though there have been two earthquakes here recently... they were not felt on the little Island where I live. I am grateful... grateful and sad. Grief can be so darn bittersweet.

The collective sorrow that is being experienced on our planet right now brings me to the place of wanting to share an experience. It seems that grief is too painful to experience alone, and it doesn't even feel right to suffer alone... we need to grieve with others... in groups. Yes, it takes a village... and  the story I share comes from a deep place of gratitude because I live in such a village... a community of friends who have been there to hold me during my time of grief.

When I returned from the longest winter of my life... the painful blizzard of events leading to the death of both of my parents in one, cold season... my world was spinning. I returned to the West coast, where flowers were already beginning to bloom, and I felt as if I was on some tropical island... the contrast was just so great... and I had only spent the winter one province away, in Alberta! It was not like I had been banished to Siberia... although many times it did feel like I had been. I had been back home for two weeks when I recieved the invitation to come to 'the yurt' to be sung to.

If you haven't heard of the Threshold Choir, please take a moment to look them up and see the endearing work they are doing all over the world.  We have a women's group right here and it is led by my dear friend, Shasta. Her husband (and also a dear friend) Brian and my husband Ron have started the first men's group choir called The Crossing Over Choir. Both of these choirs have a mission to sing 'a cappella' for and with those who are crossing over thresholds of life.

My crossing over threshold was the rite of passage that we all go through when our parents die. When I was sat in the chair in the yurt, surrounded by the loving voices of the friends I know deeply... my tears fell and fell and fell... emptying me, during that time, of the grief I was holding. It was heart-opening and soothing and nurturing. I sailed out of that yurt afterwards, feeling like I had been steeped in a love-bath of sound, and feeling also that there was a bit of ground beneath my grief now... that I had been held.

Life rolls on and triggers arise to push into those tender wounds on a daily basis. I have a few very dear friends who invite me over to sit with me and talk about death and dying and grief. I'm not sure what I would do without these friends. :) My husband is included in these friends I speak of and his patience with me is astounding. I know this is rough on him... his wife returning from some epic winter in Alberta, and she is changed by grief. He dances around me, sometimes with me, and carries on with his own tasks, his life... going with the flow of sometimes happy days and sometimes sad days. I admire him for his willingness to be flexible and patient during this time that I wallow in the ashes. There is not much more that can be done right now.

One evening at our Song Circle group, where we all sit in a circle and sing songs about peace and love, and love... and peace, I was approached by Brian and asked if I would like to attend a weekend retreat that he and Shasta were hosting. They felt it would be really healing for me during this time. I had no hesitation and replied with a yes the very next morning. Well... talk about being held! For the whole weekend! :) :)

About 10 or so of us danced in rhythm together, we shared, we ate yummy food, we sang to and with eachother, we sat in the sun in silence, were bathed in the sounds of flutes and drums, slept deeply with our dreams at night, and did it all again the very next day. There was a morning where we all took turns singing to one another... Threshold style. What happened was amazing for me because as I was singing to the person receiving in the chair, I felt as if rays of light were pouring out of my heart and into theirs. It was so satisfying to pour my love out over them and hear my voice combined with all the other voices singing so tenderly to them.

I had played sweet songs to my parents and they lay dying, and I never used my own vulnerable voice to sing to them. This experience was very healing for me because of that... my voice was finally being expressed and it brought tears to my eyes as my heart cracked open even more. When it was my turn to be sung to, the tears were unstoppable and I felt as if the whole room would fill with my grief. I felt soft hands upon me and heard the soft cries of others as they wept. It was just so beautiful and so incredibly healing. Something very deep shifted within me after that experience. I can't even explain it. It just feels like acknowledgement and connection, compassion and love all rolled into one big ball. And again, I was grateful for the experience and thankful that I could make time to allow myself that kind of immersion of Soul with others.

So yes... it takes a village. Of that I am convinced. We are all intertwined anyway... why not clump together and hold space for each other? In crisis, in grief, in birth, in death, it is our natural inclination to reach out to others. It is happening right now in Nepal, amidst the devastation, people are reaching out and holding vigil for those who died and who are lost. We are not meant to suffer alone... not ever.

Sending you all so much Love, in your communities,

~Mamaleah