Mindful Bereavement

Mindful bereavement is a tricky thing. First of all, the frontal lobe of the grieving brain just doesn't work right. The firing rate drops which alerts the emotional brain to jump into action: "I can do it! I can make all those decisions and complete all those cognitive tasks!" No, no it cannot, but it tries anyway and this is when the grief fog, the grief brain, the less-than-mindful brain takes over. The simplest things become too hard and just too exhausting. In this situation, a
person believes "I'm going crazy and/or I have dementia." This is normal grief. This is what happens to a human being when she/he/they undergo the most profound of experiences: the death of their loved one. We are built to love and to endure. We are wired to be in community and to thrive. Death comes along and just blows it all apart.

However, and this is huge, we humans are astonishingly resilient. The same brain that temporarily loses its battle with grief fog and mayhem is the same brain that eventually reconvenes itself into a new normal and a new way of functioning. Once again it becomes mindful of all it has lost and all it has endured. It focuses on what can be resurrected from the mournful process of healing. And it does not do this alone. It completes this extraordinary remapping of life with the help of breath, movement, and the beating heart that remains. Within this reworking, this reshaping, this rebuilding of our bodies, minds, hearts, and souls we begin to look different. Just like this gorgeous old, twisted tree in central Oregon, we endure all that happens. We're twisted and shaped in ways we never expected and on the outside we might look brittle and dry. However, as unbelievable as it seems and despite the fact that our loved one is still dead and we're standing
a bit crooked, we're still here!

Yes, mindful bereavement is a tricky thing, but not impossible. Never impossible.

Often Impossible

When I need to write in order to reconvene my soul ~

 I often find it impossible.

When I need to pray in order to soothe the rough edges of the day ~

 I often find it impossible.

When I need to exercise to stretch my tight and sore muscles ~

 I often find it impossible.

When I need to communicate with friends and family on very important issues ~

 I often find it impossible.

When I'm virtually paralyzed by all that's going on around me

this verse from

 The Talmud gives me hope and peace ~

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief.

Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now.

You are not obligated to complete the work, but

neither are you free to abandon it.

Golden Gate Park Eucalyptus Forest

When I rode my bike across the campus of the University of California at Santa Barbara forty-five years ago I was always careful to miss the hard ripened fruits of the eucalyptus trees covering the bike paths. A front tire hitting one of those things at the wrong angle was dangerous. But, I loved the smell of the trees and the colors of the peeling bark. The smell has always reminded me of my home state, California. This past June, on a walk through Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, we happened upon a forest of these fragrant and graceful trees. I was transported back into my youth where my spry body navigated my bike to avoid all disasters.

Walking through this forest on this day, though, I was struck by all the trees leaning to the East. The winds of the Pacific had worked on them for a very long time. Like elegant ballerinas they held their poses in unison all bending the same direction. Even though the park was very full of people, the eucalyptus forest was quiet. It was lovely, but as with all things lovely there was another side. Nothing grows beneath these trees because their oils destroy the ground’s fertility. When fires rage in California, these trees explode spewing fire and oil into the wind to ignite other areas. These lovely trees of my youth are actually invasive species from Australia and are no longer legal to plant. The beautiful forest that sheltered us in June, as well as the trees that graced the UCSB campus in 1975, have a shadow side.

Truthfully, there are different aspects to every forest. And, the metaphorical forest we’re all dwelling in right now is like this, too. It’s beautiful, it’s elegant, it bends with the wind, it smells fantastic, old growth is peeling off to reveal beautiful new skin and, at the same time, it can prohibit other growth, it can explode, and its fire can rage uncontrollably. It is wise to befriend all aspects of this forest. It is good to trust the journey to unfold as it should because God has also created this part of the forest, even with its invasive nature and its penchant for spreading fire.  Elegantly peeling away all that needs to go and knowing that, at any moment, a flame might erupt bringing new avenues for purifying this journey, for clearing the forest floor, and for making changes my 18-year-old self could never have imagined.

Walking betwixt and between the elegant forest in June, my older body again feasted on the smells and the colorful, peeling bark. As I drank it all in, my older soul sought stability from these tall companions while murmurs of change, actually promises of change, wafted through the branches continuing the cycle of hard, ripened fruit falling to the ground. No paths or bikes amongst these trees. Only older people wandering about peering, listening, looking, touching, remembering, wondering, and hoping for kindness in the changes to come, but also knowing a little fire might be needed to unleash all the gifts this forest has to offer. Amen.

The Tale of the Twisted Tree

Long ago this twisted tree decided to lay down. It had been a very tall tree but, one day in the forest, its twisted twigs, limbs, branches and trunk held a meeting and decided everyone would be much more comfortable laying down. The question at hand became,”How will we do it? How will we get from way up here to way down there?” As a group they knew they couldn’t just fall down because it would cause a great crash, too much noise, and there would be injuries to the twisted twigs, limbs, branches and trunk. While they were still quite tall they thought very big expansive thoughts considering how they could get from way up there to way down here. Soon, they agreed on an extremely slow, imperceptible set of movements toward the ground.

At the beginning of their discussion they expected the only and biggest decision would be just to lay down. But, no! As they began their extremely slow, imperceptible set of movements toward the ground all kinds of questions came up. Exactly which way should they head? Should they let the neighbors know they’d soon be aground tree instead of an air tree? Should they let the ground animals know their own homes were in danger? Should they ask for help from the birds who seemed to be happy at every height in the forest? Should they take advantage of the darkness and move a lot more quickly when no one could see them? Should they plan to slide down more quickly on rainy days? Some days all the questions overwhelmed the twisted twigs, limbs, branches, and trunk and they felt like giving up.

But, there was no turning back. Once they’d started the extremely slow, imperceptible set of movements toward the ground they just had to keep going. Which, in fact, is exactly what they did.

Slowly....slowly....slowly....they went until they were, as you can see, laying down all together on the soft forest floor.

And that was really the most surprising part of the whole journey: the soft forest floor! From very high in the sky the ground had always looked hard, unwelcoming, and generally inhospitable. But, when they finally got there it was soft, inviting, warm, safe, cushy, delicious, and, frankly, the best place they’d ever been!

And so goes the tale of the twisted tree that decided to lay down.