March 22, 2016 – Easter Saturday

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In the past several weeks a very close, long-standing friendship took a painful turn and in the past few days, has very possibly ended. We’ve been friends for more than 25 years and have been through so much together. It’s hard for me to really grasp that six weeks ago everything was seemingly ok, and now we are not in each other’s lives. At the same time, it is clear to me that the spirit is moving through all of it. There was something that needed to arise, to be known and made conscious. This something has brought me to a new place inside myself – almost the next “version” of me. This shift could not have been stopped or prevented. It had to happen. And, my heart is heavy and full as I grieve what once was between us.

We don’t choose to experience grief – it’s never fun or easy. There’s little energy, certainly no fire for new endeavors. When I’m grieving, I feel raw and it’s hard to have light conversations with people – especially those who don’t know what’s going on. In times like this, I watch others who are interacting with each other normally as if they are in another dimension, one that I’m not a part of. But there’s also something precious about it – there’s an opportunity to care for ourselves exquisitely. I learned this after we lost our dog BJ to an awful accident, and I was in acute grief. Because of this I was called to be really, really tender with myself, in a way that I otherwise wouldn’t. And in that, it occurred to me that I was living through a time that had its own gifts. Grieving is a deeply feminine experience. We can’t direct how it goes. It has its own pace, rhythm and duration. We just have to ride it through.

It has occurred to me, that I’m in an Easter Saturday/Holy Saturday time. I was raised culturally Christian, but we didn’t go to church or actively practice Christian traditions. My family’s celebrations of Easter and Christmas were entirely secular. Later in life, I spent a decade or so as an active member of a very progressive Christian church, through which I’ve become connected to the deep themes of this faith tradition – in ways that I can easily see threading through my own life. Since I’ve become a seeker of this deeper understanding, Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault is one who has been provided me with illumination. She is a mystic and Episcopal priest, who writes and teaches about Christianity and especially about Mary Magdalene, in ways that are both completely inspiring and completely mind-blowing. She’s pushing the edge of Christian understanding, and in doing so, gives me access to it that requires no translation, making the roots of this 2,000 year old tradition accessible and applicable to me in ways, that mainstream Christianity just doesn’t.

In a recording of hers I listened to a few years ago, she talked about where Jesus’ spirit was on Saturday, the day after he died, and before he was resurrected. While all those who were close to him, who loved, surely were deeply grieving and in despair, he was, as the tradition calls it, in the Harrowing of Hades – or hell. The way Cynthia Bourgeault spoke of it, though, brought me to tears. She said he was bringing the light – his light – to the souls living in the darkest place of existence. This is the invitation we have when we are in grief, and when tending to those who are grieving – to simply shine the light of love into the dark. Offering myself tenderness when I’m so sad is that light of love, shone on myself.

Another teacher who makes Christianity accessible to me, is Father Richard Rohr. What he teaches is also both deeply rooted in the tradition and so out there, that it’s hard to believe that he is a priest within the Catholic Church. (He and Cynthia Bourgeault are kindred spirits and teach together at times.) Sometime last year, Oprah had Richard Rohr on her Super Soul Sunday program. In their interview, he said something that stuck with me: if we don’t transform our pain, it will be transmitted. It’s certain. We will pass it on to others. Since loss is inevitable in our worldly lives – everything dies – we all experience grief. So, we all have Holy Saturday times – though they generally last much longer than a single day. In these times, we have the choice to operate out of our pain, thereby passing it on, or we can tend to it, thereby transforming it, which grows our capacities to hold others and become greater expressions of love.

I have been graced to have been given the understanding, support and determination, even, to choose the latter path – at least with the biggest losses in my life. The ending of my first marriage and way of being in relationship, not having been able to have any children of my own and the sudden loss of our beloved pup, were all followed by periods of grief. After a Holy Saturday time, they were also all followed by resurrections. I am married to my Joseph and have a deeply committed partnership, that I don’t believe would ever have been possible with my first husband. We have our sweet, smart “Ambassador of Happiness,” Bo-Doggy, who I am certain is the reincarnation of BJ. And I live a fulfilling life filled with making art and teaching and guiding others on their creative journeys – a life that I know I’d not have if we were raising kids. This may seem sort of transactional, maybe even too pat. But it’s my reality and I have to believe there is something to it.

I have been, and will continue to do what I do, while I am sad over this friendship. Along with tending to my home and family, I’m painting every day, writing every week and leading our painting groups – all of which are both tinged with what’s been going on for me, and are, that light shining into my darkness. This painting (above) that I just finished, is connected to this friendship. You can read about it in my gallery. Painting it over the past three weeks has felt right, just as I painted BJ right after he died, which I wanted to do while I still remembered what it felt like to touch him. For the most part, my art is not intentionally expressive of my inner process. I mostly paint what appeals to me – what I think is beautiful enough to spend my time on. But sometimes it is, which makes having an active creative life, a blessing and a refuge. It’s what I wish for us all, to have a place to take our grief and pain, to help transform it, so that what we transmit instead, is some form of beauty.

To come all the way through our Holy Saturday times, it helps to have faith – that there is a re-birth – of some sort – at the end of it. For those of us for whom this is our tradition, this week is Holy Week. It’s a walk through the cycle of death and rebirth – which takes place during the spring (rebirth) here in the northern half of our planet. This week feeds our faith that death isn’t the end of the story. And, in order to fully arrive on Sunday, we must tend to our grief on Saturday. Whether you follow this tradition or not, and whether you are currently in a time of grief, celebration, or some place between, I wish for you to notice and be fed by the beauty that is always here.

With my love,

Cara