Dissolving into Light Part 2

Today I'm on the road, tucked into a little cabin in Ojai CA, which is a truly beautiful town nestled between mountains, just outside the urban mecca that is Los Angeles. I'm on the first leg of my west coast book tour; later today I'll do a book signing and talk at the local metaphysical store, then tomorrow I head to Berkeley.

As I sit on the king-sized bed writing I feel the perfect balance of two experiences: a sense of contentment and a sense of loss.

I've been feeling both of those things for a while now. In December I blogged about dissolving a marriage, sharing my vulnerability and experiences of the transformation of a deep, nine-year partnership. At the time I wrote I was amazed at how my heart literally felt crushed. While I've been through plenty of breakups in my life, I had never so clearly felt how the heart can experience physical pain and wounding from an emotional loss. I was really curious to see how it would heal.

Looking back I can see how my old favored solution to heartbreak was to fall in love as quickly as possible. Overlap between the end of one intimate relationship and the beginning of another was even better. I was like a trapeze artist, letting myself freefall only long enough to catch the handhold coming towards me.

This time, I let myself fall.

Letting go of my relationship was hard. I fought, I resisted, I hung on. Partially from my deep love for this human, partially for my fear of not having him in my life. We had built so much together, and I didn't believe that I had what it took to hold it all. We so loved being with each other, and I didn't know how I could ever fill the void where our energetic beings overlapped, where my heart was intertwined with his. The signs that it was time to transition the relationship were all there, but I didn't want to see them. I wanted to hold on to possibility, and to the past.

When I did let go, I made an agreement with myself to not catch myself by grabbing onto another new love. I wanted to catch myself, for myself, by myself, with myself, for me. I wanted to go through the pain and fear to true healing, knowing that the pain was not just about the loss of my marriage, not just the loss of an identity, not just a loss of love, but the pain of humans struggling against loss, and an accumulated of all my losses that I hadn't healed.

The fall was sometimes scary, and sometimes a relief after so much struggle. But I was not without a net; I have an incredible group of people who held me and whispered encouragement, wiped my tears, held me close, and kept pointing to the open sky. And from their love and belief in me, I'm finding my wings, and learning to soar with the wind of life under my wings.

I've watched myself every step of the way; noticing where I was in blame, noticing where I felt victimized and wanted to defend myself, noticing where I wanted to close, noticing where change began to slip in. One day I'd think or hear about my almost ex-husband and feel as if I had literally been kicked in the stomach. I'd breathe through the feeling, going into it, questioning, loving, holding compassion. Then the next day when his name was mentioned all I would feel was love and gratitude. I knew change was happening at a deep level when someone asked me, "Are you married?" and I easily and with a smile said "no." My heart was light, it was okay to not be married, it was okay to let the past be the past.

A friend just sent me a blog post from a prominent Ashtanga yoga teacher who has been highly criticized by her peers and community. It is a beautiful sharing that sometimes our path and our expression looks different from the purity of the teachings. (read it here: http://www.elephantjournal.com/2013/02/confessions-of-a-loved-hated-ashtangi-kino-macgregor/ )

In the Toltec world one of the main teachings is to release our personal history, let go of our past, and as don Miguel would say, to change as fast as God.

If we hold to this rigidly, I am a bad Toltec.

I've judged myself fiercely at times for my struggle to let go. Some people have judged me for the choices I have made. Some for not being able to release the past in the wink of an eye. Some are simply disappointed that I have been grieving and feeling loss, because of the illusion that once you get to a certain level you can leave all of those messy emotions behind and not have to feel any pain.

But are we really here to not feel pain, to avoid loss and suffering? Or are we here to be in life fully, and to learn through our experiences to come more and more into our center, faith, and love?

There are things I would have done differently over the past few months, and other things I wouldn't change. I've done my best to keep moving past the black hole of regret and should have's and steer myself towards compassion and learning what I am here to learn. I am learning so much, I can tell you that! Have I been messy? Yes. Have I learned from each experience? Yes. Have I learned how to go deeper into myself to listen for my truth? Yes. And do I think I have this all figured out? No. I'm in process. I'm learning. I'm exploring. I'm listening. I'm open.

The point is not to use the teachings to judge and point fingers at others for where we think they should be, or at ourselves for where we perceive we should be.

The point is to be with ourselves, to honor our unique expression, to have compassion, and to keep going towards healing, however long it takes. And to learn and grow and expand. And sometimes that takes being with our contraction, mistakes, and struggles. Not drowning in them. Not wallowing. Not feeding them with stories. But staying present and in love with the process of healing, messy parts and all.

When I don't try and control my own healing process, things seem to flow better. Today my heart still feels tender, but no longer crushed. The pain has been replaced by a sense of gratitude and a huge compassion for beings that are going through loss. I am so grateful to my friends, and to so many of my friendships that are deepening so beautifully. Wow. I am truly blessed.

I still cry at certain memories or have moments of deep longing for Raven's presence. I cried on the way to baggage claim at the San Francisco airport, because for so many years I've had that one particular beloved at my side. I found the perfect little cabin to stay in, and I cried when I first walked into it, not having that familiar someone at my side to share the awesomeness of the space.

And when these waves pass I feel whole and happy with who and where I am. I'm crying now, and at the same time I feel loss I also feel joyful happiness about how cool my life is, how much I love being alone here, writing to you, nestled in the arms of the Universe.

As I searched for a link, I just "accidently" discovered the following blogpost. Of course, more perfection. Here's to being broken open, and for becoming the most beautiful prisms of life.

Yay for healing!

Why Being Broken in a Pile on Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2011/06/why-being-broken-in-a-pile-on-your-bedroom-floor-is-a-good-idea-julie-jc-peters/