November 25, 2018 Last winter of mourning

"Grief is a most peculiar thing; we're so helpless in the face of it. It's like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it." - Arthur Golden

I am feeling so conflicted.  My grief, having abated some, and this being my fourth year, I find my soul is awakening and things are coming to the forefront again.  My acceptance is complete.  The memory surfaces now and again but in its leaving, it is leaving room for some things I had set aside for four years.  As it leaves, there is remembering, of many things, in my soul/spirit/heart.  It is, as if my body, mind, heart and soul feels it has gone deep enough,.  Do not get me wrong.  Sometimes grief sends a huge wave crashing over me.  I am very aware of his journey and his moving off, further away.  I am reconciled to it.  I am being to find that the way of my living life, for all those years, has come so I do not feel so totally abandoned.  

My way of grieving was very much the way of The People.  I was raised knowing some of one First Nations' ways, and when I moved North, I became immersed in another and another and another.  My belief system is very eclectic because of my learning and because of the different  teachers  who came to teach me.  I am very aware of my life cycle and what it means and where it began and where it will go.  Something of me will always survive in its good ways.  Something of him will go on.  In honor did we journey together and Love.  In honor do I allow him to leave me more and more and have my path diverge for a time.  He now walks his journey alone, as well.

I was in no position to follow things as they have been for generations.  I had to do what I did in my own way.  As soon as I could, I walked out under the harvest full moon and let her comfort me away from his body for a time.  I let my hair grow for those 5 weeks of his dying.  I had it cut as soon as he left.  Because I was totally alone, after they took his body, I moved into the highest form of grief I can ever go.  I had no songs, no drums, no offerings, no circle of women to comfort me.  I have never walked such a solitary journey for the next few days until my daughter could come and collect me.

Under the harvest moon, I buried some of our sacred stones.  I gave away my regalia.  I gave away his regalia.  I put my medicine bag to sleep.  I buried my pipe.  I did so, with each, in great sorrow and reverence.  The Giving Away took more and more of my body, mind, heart and soul.  His memory remains and ever will.  

Since I could not place sweet grass and tobacco in his hands, I buried them where his soul would know to find them.  I had been burying a portion of each meal people brought before hand.  There was no gathering or meal afterwards and I had no one who knew I could not touch or handle food for those first days.  I had to simply get through the nights and days until my daughter could fly in. 

I was left with such complicated grief.  I have had to forgive myself for so many ways grief took hold of me.  I was dealing with a whole lifetime of being abandoned;  first, by a birth mother, then being in a foundling home, before a mother came to take my birth mother's place.  I can only imagine how a new baby grieves and I can only know how that first grief followed me through life.  Such a huge soul-wounding:  I do not know how abandoned babies survive it.  I nearly did not survive my sweetheart's death.

My life had many abandonments and I learned well to abandon, reflexively.  Grief made a different me than I first started out in life.  Losing my sweetheart made another new me through it.  I have always, I know, been  in survivor syndrome, as well.  

There were no tear-wiping ceremonies.  There were no releasing ceremonies.  My grief, initially impaired, had to walk a lot of dark nights before I could be consoled.  I am resilient, indeed.  My four years of leaving behind all ceremonies and any form of group support has taken its toll, indeed.  But, it is returning and I am soul-deep hungry for it.  

As I re-orient myself to who I am in the world now, without him, and this is the fourth year, I have tried to be kind and compassionate to myself.  I think that has been the key to getting through to where I am.  I have done the right things to diffuse my grief.  That is not to say I do not think of him at some point during the day, every day.  I do.  I had a major break down after watching A Star Is Born.  Whew!  But the grief is lessening and the honor is greater.  Now I need a Round Dance.

"There was once a girl and her mother who lived together and loved each other deeply. The girl was in her teens when her mother passed on. The girl continuously mourned for her mother. One day while picking berries her mother came to her daughter. She said she was sad and asked her daughter to stop mourning. She asked to released from her ties to earth a she was not in peace.

In return the mother offered to teach her daughter a dance and songs so at certain times they could be together again. The daughter learned the dance and song and shared them with her people. This is our Round Dance. It is a time for those people who are here to commune with those who have, passed on."

It is all a process and it is as unique as we all are.  Grief is a continuum and we are the ones following that path until we get through this valley of tears.  Comfort and compassion is needed as we got through physical, intellectual, emotional and spiritual changes necessary to let go and to walk on on our own.  No chastising can hurry us.  It can stop the flow of our process and we can be forever stuck in that place.  We are adjusting to knowing how near our ancestors and loved ones are.  He is as near to me as my next thought.  

Karo Baha Alchesay, an Apache woman who passed on February 16, 1988 has aptly expressed the tenet of deportment for those remaining.

When I Must Leave You

When I must leave you, for a little while
Please do not grieve and shed wild tears
and hug your sorrows to you, through the years.
But start our bravely with a gallant smile
and for my sake and in my name
live on and do all things the same.
Seed not your loneliness on empty days,
but fill each waking hour in useful ways.
Reach out your hand in comfort and in cheer
and I in return will comfort you and hold you near;
And never, never be afraid to die,
for I am waiting for you in the sky!

https://allpoetry.com/poem/14186108-Temptations-Of-Trials-by-CarolDesjarlais?c=1163330169

I gather up my heart and move forward.  Life is not going to get easier as I age and this has built some strength I may need.

©Carol Desjarlais 11.24.18

MyStory pages for December - Calm and Chaos

For these two pages, I wanted to show a comparison between the calm and peace and introspection of Mary and on the other page to show the chaos of what her travail had to be. 

I adore this painting I did a while ago and have chosen her to be on December page because I see the emotion there that IMHO would have been.  I have written a poem it is totally my feelings and my opinion and I in no way am denigrating her.  The mothering heart of mine simply chooses to feel a type of almost outrage FOR her.

On the next page you see where I have tucked a poem I have written from my own hurt place.

Chosen Sign

it matters not how she became     she became     they say

a girl     she was     barely into menses     if at all

Gabriel     Joseph     such turmoil tossed   

nothing more than a waif to be bartered

as was custom     damned sacrifice    she taught him well

how to be chosen

widow had to take second best     I am sure

saving her from despise     probably stoning

now she owed him    sand and grit  backbone

of desert and donkey    always less than

some slaughtered sign     she was chosen for

her parents decided their daughter was holy      who has not

decided to keep her well reined until her lamp was lit

and some old man kissed her in welcome

led her    not like any other burden    along with young friends

who should have been whispering little girl secrets

into little doll's ears     it could have been done differently

but men needed some kind of miracle

someone decided she was to be The Chosen One

was contempt not enough     was months of travail

only to be offered a cave      where     to curl into her creation

fraught with first baby birthing     pain enough to sense forgiveness

which would never come     ever sensing some cross to bear

hers     and his      she was chosen for this

oh     how men chose to make something more of all this

barely mentioning her name    less     her trouble

they saw light     but were confused      heard birds still

but were afraid     sudden appearance of camels and kings

of angels and animals     gifts and glory    bespoke men

who gathered      where were her sisters      where were mothers

where were aunties     where were grandmothers

such an innocent child    both      compelled to be chosen

kneeling in her confinement    tending inner gardens

knotted garments     awaiting some male they could chose

to tie himself to her  oh     chaste not by choice

but by demand for the story to be the story     chosen

except there was little more than a chuffing of sand

described     that defined her     all the little details

deemed unnecessary for history to know and recall

ah     but she was fruitful     she would bear him in birth

bear his death  and then passed on to another man

to keep her in line     with the tale    tall on woe

more than one miracle was needed     Elizabeth     they say

womb as withered as last year's fruit     called her to come

load more donkeys      enquire of escorts to aid her

to meet another favored female     both favors

to be recalled at a whim that kept some supernatural story going

about being chosen

yes      in sorrow was he borne and born     she waiting on his first

breath     his last    oh      in a man's world

that gives rise to hymns and statues

but know little of her truths     was she fair     was she stocky

was she led like lamb to a slaughter too

of course she was     little sister      little daughter kept like calves

are kept for veal at a rich men's supper     chosen

©Carol Desjarlais 11.22.18

I have two gift symbols that open up to show symbols and numbers and the moon phase and date, that go along with December's page.

I have used a piece of round magnet to keep the one closed.

I have also used some stamps, the tree and the woman stamp, that I made myself out of craft foam.  The word December is made of pressed cardboard letters that I painted red.  The little balls on the tree were made of little round sticky circles.  The feather symbols are also stamped. 
Again, I have left areas to write on later.

November 23, 12:39 A.M. EST - Mourning Moon

Mother Earth prepares for the hard cold month.  She is letting go of her greens and golds and reds and all the lush of glorious things of previous seasons.  This is the time of, first, giving gratitude for abundance.  It is also a time of letting go of past seasons' things she has been holding on to.  It is time for us to do the same.  This is the time our energy, like hers, must be spent on getting through and becoming ready to meet the new year unencumbered with all the unnecessary, unneeded, negativity and things we have been grieving.  Sister-friends, it is time to physically, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually prepare for winter and energy spent on those things that will help us, one day at a time, get through some hard places.

Spiritually, here comes survival's tests.  We will need to 'den in', like the beaver who has gnawed and lugged and built, and, now,  left to winter's ravage while he moved in to see winter through.  Seek ways to change, personally, in all areas of our life.  It will be a time of introspection to identify areas of our lives that will hold us back from being the glorious beings we can be, come spring.  We need to truly, be grateful for even the hard things we have gone through this year and then let them not burden us any longer.  Do not be attached to old ways, old relationships, old things that will make the dark, cold days and nights even more difficult. 

Identify people, places and things that comfort you, that sustain you.  Remember, first, why you chose the things you did, why you chose to act and react about things you did, even if they gave you reason to be burdened.  Those things are gone and need to be cleansed from your body, mind, heart and spirit.  We have learned the lessons, or will, during these next few months, from both the hard and soft places of life.  We need to heal and recover. Find activities you can do to help you settle more quietly, even deep inside, to soothe you.  Find people, places, things that truly sustain you, keep you vibrant, in the still small caverns of your soul.  Love and honor that glowing ember of your heart that keeps you strong and brave and full of dignified courage.  Express your gratitude and move more deeply into your soul to do some housekeeping to dig out everything that might slow down your beautiful rise when rising time comes. 

Aho!

©Carol Desjarlais 11.22.18

Waiting for the hammer to drop, or the other shoe, or other boot

" The way I see it, our natural human instinct is to fight or flee that which we perceive to be dangerous. Although this mechanism evolved to protect us, it serves as the single greatest limiting process to our growth. To put this process in perspective and not let it rule my life, I
expect the unexpected;
make the unfamiliar familiar;
make the unknown known;
make the uncomfortable comfortable;
believe the unbelievable.”
― Charles F. Glassman, Brain Drain The Breakthrough That Will Change Your Life

Sometimes, when life hands you a little more than you thought you could bear, and you begin to have a sense of lack of control over what happens to you, what Life happens to you, sometimes we tend to gain a perspective of waiting for another crisis, another loss, another thing to deal with.  I think aging does this is many ways, as well. Sometimes there has to come ACCEPTANCE that our body can turn against us.  Sometimes things get physically, intellectually, emotionally and spiritually difficult.  Accepting this can defeat us if we do not find new ways of doing things, of thinking of things, of emotionally dealing/coping with things, and have to dig deep for things that satisfy our soul.

We have learned that rules change in every arena of life.  We have learned new things to fear.  We learn that freedom also takes on new definitions.  Perhaps we become more real.  We have to work hard not to feel totally helpless against the foe of aging.  We can, easily, become more anxious and this anxiety can deter our ability to bounce back from things, our ability to forge ahead in spite of, and our ability to defend ourselves against the stress of it all. 

Many of, women, are experiencing huge changes in finances, in losses, in health, in worry about independence.  We have a sense of it all slipping away from us.  We have to learn new kinds of coping skills that we never realized may come to us, nor that we would have to find new ways to accept. 

Many of us find ourselves living just barely above the poverty line.  Our balance goes.  Our eyes need more intervention in order to see well.  Our hearing goes.  Our healthcare needs even change.  We find ourselves more isolated for myriads of reasons, and not much about choice.  We worry about being able to live on our own, and this is often foisted on us as we lose our partners and the likelihood of a few last fluttering moves towards more and more dependence comes at us.  We have to learn to take advantage of small mercies because there are always others worse off than we are. 

If we had known better, known more, we would have made sure we could deal with changes better as youth and adults.  Surely, we have found ways to deal with one shoe drop after another.  Some have turned to religion, some to medication, some to drugs and alcohol, and, yes, some have found healthier ways.  But, every day is some kind of struggle.  We are bombarded with things to deal with.  We have to work hard not to be cranky old people.  We have to work hard not to simply sit in a puddle of our muddle.  We have to work very hard to not simply give up.  We are very aware there are many hammers and shoes and boots to drop.  We wait for the next thing, betimes.

©Carol Desjarlais 11.14.18