All things grief

News like this is hard to deeply comprehend.

You try your best to incorporate all the practices you’ve learnt, rushing through them all unknowingly,

but to accept and welcome in this news to the home of your body,

asks for a level of something that I just don’t seem to have.

Perhaps there is an element that cannot be controlled with invigorating breathwork and soft yoga postures, or meditation and hopeful prayer, or kickboxing and meandering walks, or visits to body workers and lymphatic drainage in front of the bathroom mirror, or accepting friends love and letting people in, or working on my sleep routine and opening my eyes to the first morning sun.

Perhaps I’m simply rushing through it all, deeply afraid to slow down and stop,

the subtle aches and trembles from within trying to communicate with me.

Am I dulling my sweet body’s message with that second does of caffeine?

When I feel my body vibrating on the inside, could that be tiny waves of sadness meeting together to form one tidal wave of grief?

Or the aches in my muscles and joints like rusting copper, a voice asking for time to rejuvenate and self-oil with sesame,

is my inability to follow the stories of others a desperation from my own inner voice to be tended to?

Even the breath - unsteady and shallow, begging to be held gently and stretched to allow for expansion and depth.

What would happen if I allow my body to be my shepherd, guiding me in each moment, trusting her painful wisdom.