Morning Yearning ~ Mourning Yearing

I have so many things I want to cover in this post. First of all, I wanted to say THANK YOU to Ken and Tim and Cristian and Luciana who made my Thanksgiving particularly special. Being away from family (my extended family) is hard enough, but when I am forced to give up my son for holidays, it can be particularly sad. My friends helped me find the gratitude amidst the sorrow.

Then, onto tonight. A beautiful full moon. My first free night in many. I sat outside, underneath the Maiden/Mother/Crone moon and said a prayer. I reaffirmed my gratitude for my life and all my blessings. I asked to let go of the fear, doubt, insecurities, rejections, sorrow, and sadness I have tried to release over the last year. I sat with the utter stillness and knowing that everything is connected; the past and the present, the living and the dead, the lost and the found…. It’s all just one thing and I am one part of its brilliance. My light is just as important, just as brilliant, just as unique as any other in the infinite light of life.

I read from Pema Chodron’s book, When Things Fall Apart. She writes, “Although this is ordinary Buddhist thinking, …difficult to hear that what we reject out there is what we reject in ourselves, and what we reject in ourselves is what we are going to reject out there.” And she goes on to write of how we habitually erect a barrier of blame around us to keep us sheltered as we fortify it with judgments of who is “right” and who is “wrong”. Instead of holding on so tightly to what are our held beliefs in an effort to make things right or wrong in order to justify our very existence, she asks if we could try the middle way. “Could our minds and our hearts be big enough just to hang out in that space where we’re not entirely certain about who’s right and who’s wrong?” And I have sensed in my self a strong urge to hold onto the idea of who hurt who and who was in the wrong and what is the right way to be, in the last few months. I’ve struggled with my anger and my sorrow. Holding on tight because if I were to let go I wasn’t sure what would follow.

I sat there in the dark shadows amidst the moonlight in my backyard. Leaning over so that the spiders wouldn’t be able to crawl down my neck. Seeing it clearly in the illumination of the intuitive, compassionate Luna: the darkness is only the absence of the light. What I passed through, the hatred, the blaming, the judgment, the mourning for my loss, the abuse, etc., was nothing more than the opposite of what I am. I am, in short, the light.

So I sat and contemplated another awesome author, Mark Nepo and his Book of Awakening. On November 27’s entry, he begins to talk about the morning and how the small light of the beginning breaking through every day is of a wisdom so large and clear that we seldom see it. We go throughout lives and get all dirty and tired and sore. The day is a challenge and the night comes as only a respite for the weary. Sooner or later, he writes, “we each must sleep. We must surrender to the quieting of all intent and regret, so that the small light of beginning can rise in us, again and again. There is no escaping this profound simplicity: what happens covers us like dirt. It covers our hearts and minds, till at the shore we call exhaustion, we slip into the water of sleep in a daily sort of baptism, so we can begin again.”

And that made me think of Ben Harper’s “Morning Yearning” and we so often want to shut the curtains and keep it dark. We don’t want to face the Shadowy Bitch of our lives and face the realities and fears and things that seem right or wrong. We want to sleep through them. Dream them away. But they come, every day, with another day to get it right. And we are always still just learning. Every day. It’s a new day and there is all this space, from Earth to the Moon and back to hold all of our fears, sins, doubts, sorrow and anger. We can let it go and it becomes part of that darkness that only serves to show our truth: the light of who we are.

I had had this piece of artwork I had made that was, well, a collection of the emotions evoked when I thought of my past and all the pain. The main image was this scary shark with all these angry words surrounding the image. It was as if the shark would jump off the page and tear off my lower lip. I’ve held onto the artwork, waiting for the “right” time to burn it. I’ve held onto it, maybe subconsciously, as if I were holding onto my covers, over my head, shutting out the light of the morning. The Mourning.

And I quietly placed this on top of the fire. It quickly and easily disappeared into the nothingness. Ashes floating up to the heavens. Set free.

I promise to open the curtain of my fears and sorrow upon the light of my soul. It’s going to be a beautiful day.